


Powerful Magic

by PhiraLovesLoki



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Enchanted Forest, F/M, Kidnapping, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-15 23:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15424338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiraLovesLoki/pseuds/PhiraLovesLoki
Summary: The plan is a risky one: travel to a faraway kingdom and ask a powerful witch for help. As far as Princess Emma is concerned, though, it’s the only way to save her own life, and she isn’t about to let any kidnappings stop her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eirabach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eirabach/gifts), [Katie_Dub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katie_Dub/gifts), [Iverna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iverna/gifts).



> This story is dedicated to all of the wonderful people in the CS Hub Discord. You've all been incredible friends to me, and I don't know where I would be without you. I know I was on hiatus for a very long time, and I hope this helps make up for it.
> 
> This story was inspired by a discussion in Discord between mahstatins, winterbythesea, and katie-dub. I wonder if you remember it at all!
> 
> Massive gratitude to lifeinahole27 for beta-reading and helping me figure out how to fix that one damn section. You are a superstar and my writing is always better thanks to you.

Crown Princess Emma of Misthaven emerged from the royal library covered in dust and anxious beyond reason. As she rushed to her chambers, the torches along the walls flickered in her wake. She was too apprehensive to care that they did so in the absence of any drafts.

The threats from Camelot had grown worse over the last several months, and the two kingdoms seemed destined for massive, bloody conflict. Camelot’s king, Arthur, had only become more and more ruthless as time wore on, and Misthaven was running out of options. Diplomacy continued to fail, and with Arthur’s superior navy, Misthaven would almost certainly lose the inevitable war.

Emma had spent her entire life training for this sort of situation. This would be her kingdom to run someday, after all, and it was her duty to aid her parents, Snow White and David as they decided what to do to protect their kingdom and end the threat.

Right now, the biggest issue that her parents were facing was the suggestion from their top advisors that they consider allying with a neighboring country in order to fend off Arthur. It would have been a reasonable suggestion, except that any neighboring country would insist on using the one weapon that Snow White and David had expressly forbidden:

Magic.

It was an incontrovertible fact, at least here in Misthaven, that magic was an evil force. People who wielded it could not be trusted, and even the most innocuous-seeming charm or potion could prove corrupting. Before Snow White had taken the throne, Misthaven had been ruled by Regina, a despotic sorceress who’d gleefully razed entirely villages and murdered people on a whim with her magic. And citizens had lived in fear of the Dark One, an evil being who’d stolen children and trapped people in deceptive deals that came with tragic consequences.

The kingdom had needed purification, and Snow White had done just that. When she claimed the throne, a new law was immediately implemented: the use of magic was punishable by death, and anyone who disagreed was free to find another kingdom to live in.

To ally with a kingdom that would use magic against Arthur was to implicitly approve of magic, as far as Snow White was concerned. And so Emma had done her best to come up with a possible solution: she and the other advisors would determine which kingdoms might be the most amenable to a treaty in which they would help Misthaven fight Camelot, but without resorting to magic of any sort at all.

It would be challenging, to be sure. At the moment, Camelot was being extremely diplomatic and polite in its dealings with all other kingdoms besides Misthaven. It would be difficult to convince those other kingdoms to mobilize against what seemed like an ally; thanks to Arthur’s duplicitousness, on the outside, it seemed as though no one but Misthaven would benefit from intervention. To not only ask for military assistance under those circumstances, but to also demand that such assistance had no magic involved—not even the use of a charm or two to improve luck on the battlefield—was beyond undiplomatic.

It was quite the conundrum. But it was not, unfortunately, the reason that Emma had just spent desperate hours in the library.

No, she had spent hours poring over tome after dusty tome looking for a solution to a much more personal problem.

It was a problem that had begun as she’d grown into her womanhood, almost as though the changes to her body also involved some unexpected  _ mystical _ changes. At first, she hadn’t really known for sure that anything was amiss, but little things soon failed to escape her notice, such as a glass shattering as she’d shouted at someone, or a candle coming to life as she’d thought to herself,  _ But it’s quite dark in here, isn’t it? _

It wasn’t until she was sixteen and looking at a flowerbud and thinking to herself,  _ I do wish you would bloom already, _ and the flower simply bloomed right in front of her, that she could no longer deny the truth:

She had magic.

She had magic in a kingdom where magic was punishable by death.

She’d resolved right then and there that she would simply not use it, and that she could not help that somehow her biology had betrayed her. After all, she’d lived her entire life without needing magic, which meant—she’d thought—that it would be easy to continue not using it.

But the past several years has been excruciatingly difficult. Her magic did not seem to care if she wanted to use it or not; any time her emotions were out of control, it took hold. And in those charged moments, when her magic would seep out, she would grow panicked and fearful of discovery, which in turn fueled her magic. It was a vicious cycle.

It had culminated in the events of the previous evening, as she’d stood in the war room with her parents, their advisors, and the top military strategists. It was then that the suggestion of finding a magical ally had first arisen, which had led to a massive argument, with some advisors siding with their colleague who’d made the suggestion, others siding with the queen and her consort, and Emma standing alone, just wishing that everyone would stop shouting.

Her anxiety had gotten the better of her in the moment, and what little control she had over her magic had failed. The flames in their sconces had sputtered violently, and one of the maps on the table caught fire. The whole fiasco had been attributed to inferior oil in the sconces, which in turn must have resulted in sparks landing on the map on the table.

But Emma knew better, and it was only a matter of time before someone else knew better, too.

She would be caught, and her parents would have no choice but to execute their own daughter, their only child and heir to the throne.

She’d been the one to suggest the compromise, that they try to determine which neighbor might make the best ally, and that they should work hard on their appeal to ensure that the demand for no magical intervention seem as reasonable and inoffensive as possible. It was an excellent cover story for her as she hid in the library, searching for something,  _ anything _ that might help her. There  _ had _ to be a way to rid herself of this magic, to prevent her parents from having to make such an awful decision in the first place.

And she might have found it.

In Oz, there was a witch who might have the answer to her prayers. She just had to  _ get _ to Oz.

It would be easier said than done. With the current political climate this precarious, her parents had limited her travel to within a day of the palace by land, whereas Oz was a week away by sea. And lying, pretending that she was going on a diplomatic mission, was likely to backfire, especially since no naval captain in his right mind would collude with the princess to disobey the queen by changing destinations in secret.

And she couldn’t just tell the truth, and say she was going to Oz. Of all the kingdoms that could be considered as possible allies against Camelot, Oz was so far off the list it was laughable. The whole kingdom was magical, to the point where there was hardly even any trade between it and Misthaven.

There was only one solution, she told herself that evening, as she put pen to parchment. And while it was risky and perhaps foolish, her life would be in danger either way. She had to get to Oz.

Get to Oz. Get rid of this magic. And get home to fight Arthur.

* * *

The next morning, her lady’s maid anxiously brought the letter to the queen and her prince consort.

_ Mother and Father, _

_ By now, you will know that I have left the palace. I cannot explain why I have left, only that I hope to return soon, within a few weeks. Rest assured that I have departed intentionally and that I am in no danger whatsoever; any ransom demands or other reports of my kidnapping are absolutely false and should be aggressively disregarded. I promise, I am safe. _

_ I love you both dearly, and I’m sorry to cause you any pain or distress by leaving in such a mysterious manner. In the meantime, I beg you, do not come after me. Trust that I will return to you, and let me make my own way. _

_ With all my love, _

_ Emma _

* * *

Her mistake, she conceded privately as she sat in the brig, was thinking that traveling without a disguise would expedite her journey.

It  _ should _ have, and quite frankly, it had at the beginning. Her title and her money had her on the first ship to Oz within fifteen minutes of her arrival at the harbor. The crew of the vessel was incredibly polite and respectful, the ship was swift, and the winds were favorable.

And when they were within a day’s sail of Oz’s shores, they were attacked by Arthur’s fleet.

Now, not only was she farther from Oz than ever before, but she was also a political prisoner. And thanks to her convincing little note, her parents were doing exactly as she asked: ignoring Arthur’s demand for concessions in exchange for her safe return.

She did sort of enjoy how frustrated he was at her parents’ refusal to believe that their daughter was his prisoner, even if such frustration was relayed to her through messages he sent to his ship’s captain. But it was a thin, dull silver lining; by tomorrow, the fleet would arrive in Camelot, and she would be thrown into the dungeons until she agreed to cooperate and convince her parents to concede to Arthur’s demands. She had no intention of doing so, which meant that she was looking at a lifetime in a prison cell.

And it would be a lifetime; she could not use her magic to escape. She could not risk revealing such a deadly secret, especially when Arthur would happily use it to his advantage. Whether that advantage would be to somehow find a way to force her to use her magic against Misthaven, or if he would simply gleefully expose her and destroy her kingdom’s trust in her, it didn’t matter. It was more important now than ever before that she hide her magic.

Her magic, however, did not want to be hidden. Whenever her anger and frustration got the best of her, any lamps or lanterns in the brig would flicker and sputter, and crew members who came to check on her would slip on perfectly dry wood. The fleet also continued to run into unexpectedly poor weather; even as they tried to move to calmer waters, the storms followed.

The most obvious moment had been when she had wished, in her most miserably desperate moment, that she could just  _ magically _ escape, and the lock on the door to her cell had clinked open in response.

She’d had a difficult decision to make. Yes, it could easily be explained as a crew member forgetting to properly lock the cell. And perhaps she could use her magic to unlock the brig door as well. But while one forgotten lock was believable, two was much less so. And what would she do when she reached the deck anyway? Best case scenario, she’d just wind up in the brig again; worst case scenario, she imagined a crew member might strike her down. Either way, her secret would likely be uncovered, and Arthur would have his leverage.

And so she had to sit in her cell, like a  _ demure _ little princess, while she did everything she could to keep her emotions in check. She yearned for freedom if only to have the privacy to scream and rage at her circumstances, without anyone to see her magic raging alongside her.

When she heard shouting coming from above deck, she assumed it was just an indication that they were making port, and that she was about to be delivered to Arthur. But the shouting grew louder, and more punctuated, and then, without any warning, there was a sickening  _ crack! _ and the ship rocked violently.

Cannonfire. They were under attack.

Her heart filled with hope. Maybe her parents had figured out that Arthur wasn’t bluffing? That was  _ certainly _ the sound of the ship being boarded and the crew battling their attackers. She grabbed at the padlock; should she try to use magic to free herself? Or should she just wait for the rescue that was now certain to come?

Before she could decide, the door to the brig was wrenched open, revealing her savior:

A pirate with sallow skin and missing teeth.

Wonderful. They were being attacked by pirates; so much for rescue.

Her knight in shining armor, as it were, just sort of leered at her momentarily before scanning the rest of the brig and scrambling back out into the fray, shouting unintelligibly as he went.

She dropped down onto the hard cot and sighed heavily. It didn’t even matter at this point if pirates were going to affect her positively or negatively; it was just another complication that had her regretting her journey in the first place. Better to have slipped away to live an anonymous life as a peasant, leaving her parents a note with a little more finality, than to leave them in suspense as she was forever imprisoned by Arthur, treated brutally at the hands of pirates, or executed by either party.

There was still the possibility of getting a message to her parents that the kidnapping was real. She could resort to that when she had the chance, she supposed, but for now, she simply had to survive the latest problem she’d managed to bring upon herself.

She laughed at herself grimly; magic really did bring nothing but trouble. Even trying to escape its grasp, she found herself in peril.

Meanwhile, the sounds of fighting swelled before tapering off, and mercifully the cannonfire ceased. She cared little for Arthur’s men or his ship, but she had no interest in finding out just how close a cannonball could strike the brig without killing her.

And then there were shouts and cheers, and heavy footsteps approaching the door. She quickly rose to her feet; would one of Arthur’s men greet her? Or would the pirate’s captain come to claim his prize? Which one was worse? The door creaked open.

“I thought old Murphy was lying when he said there was a beautiful woman locked down here. I suppose I’ll have to reward him for telling the truth.”

The pirate’s captain was young, far younger than she’d have expected given the appearance of his crew member. He was wrapped in black leather, and his left arm ended in a gleaming metal hook.

Oh, no.  _ This _ pirate.

“Captain Hook, I presume,” she said glumly.

He grinned wickedly. “So you’ve heard of me.”

She’d heard of him all right; he’d been successfully terrorizing multiple kingdoms, her own included, for the past several years. She should have expected that the pirates attacking Arthur’s ship would be Hook’s; Camelot’s navy was the most frequent target of this particular pirate captain for reasons unknown. She could not have asked for a worse pirate to capture her; his vicious reputation far preceded him.

Although, she noted inwardly, mention of his good looks hadn’t quite reached Misthaven’s courts. Not that it really mattered when he was ruthless as well.

“And  _ I _ have heard of  _ you, _ Princess Emma,” he continued, ignoring her silence. “I’d heard tales of your beauty even before I’d heard the rumors you’d been kidnapped by Camelot.” He swaggered up to the bars, gazing at her intently; he smiled when she chose to lift up her chin and stare right back. “Strange, though. Your own kingdom has been unusually insistent that those pesky kidnapping rumors were false. And yet, here you are. Why might that be the case?”

It was such an easy answer.  _ Because I told my parents that I had absolutely not been kidnapped, and until I say otherwise, they’ll believe it. _ And it was the one way out of this situation. She just had to explain, and Hook would happily ransom her off to her parents for a hefty sum. Lying to her parents about her disappearance would be easy.  _ Arthur lured me out of the castle under the pretense of wanting to negotiate for peace. _

And then she’d have to deal with her magic some other way.

“I think you’re after something,” Hook said, interrupting her thoughts. “By all accounts, you’re too  _ honorable _ a princess to simply run away.” The way he said  _ honorable _ was as though he were spitting it out of his mouth in disgust. “So what were you after when Arthur’s men stumbled upon you?”

“That’s none of your business.” She would not be blackmailed by a pirate as well as kidnapped by one.

“You belong to me now.” To his credit, he did not leer as he spoke. “Spoils of war and all. It’s absolutely my business.”

Spoils of  _ war? _ “What grievance do you have with Camelot?”

His face darkened. “Now  _ that _ is none of  _ your _ business.” He turned abruptly, leather greatcoat swirling around him, and stomped over to the door. “Starkey, get your arse down here!” He continued to face the door while he waited, but soon enough, a lanky older man appeared. “This is the Princess of Misthaven,” Hook declared. “Find the key to her cell, and then lock her in our brig.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.” And then he disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived.

Hook stood in the doorway for a moment, and she expected that he would turn to her for one last jab. But instead, he left as well, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

The brig of Hook’s ship, the Jolly Roger, was comparable to the one on Arthur’s ship, with one notable, uncomfortable exception: Emma was not alone. Hook had taken prisoners.

From the snatches of conversation amongst Arthur’s imprisoned men, she quickly learned that the majority of the crew—including the commanding officers—had escaped on ship’s boats and fled to other ships in the fleet; it was those who hadn’t who were now down here with her as Hook decided what would be done with them. From the looks of it, execution seemed the most likely solution, but there was some hope that their king would agree to pay a ransom. None of them had taken Hook’s offer to join the pirate crew.

At first, she was sympathetic to their plight. They were just doing their jobs, sailing under their king’s orders; they hadn’t even been cruel to her when she’d been their prisoner. But now, with nothing to lose, and no commanding officers to keep them in line, they were downright nasty. Comments ranged from what they’d like to do to her, to what they thought the pirates might do to her, to how their imprisonment was clearly her fault in the first place for somehow luring the pirates to them.

Never mind that the pirates had no idea she was aboard the ship until they found her in the brig, but she wasn’t sure bringing it up would endear her to them. Instead, she opted to ignore them, which of course brought on plenty of additional comments about how haughty she must be, and how they’d like to take her down a peg.

She could endure their abuse. The cell she’d been placed in had solid wood for the majority of its walls, except for the door, and it was located such that she was entirely blocked from view of the rest of the cells. So as long as no pirates walked by unexpectedly, she could even use her chamber pot in relative privacy. As long as that continued to be true, and as long as she could keep her magic contained, she could last quite a while down here if she had to.

The question, of course, was how long would she have to?

She had no desire to appear weak in front of any of the crew, and so she hardly spoke to the men who came and went, bringing her food or having her slide her full chamber pot through the tray door to be emptied. Asking to speak with the captain might sound like she was begging, or at the very least, that she had cracked first. And so she decided that until the captain came to her, or brought her to him, she would stay put.

Two days later, as she lay back on her cell’s cot and mentally ran through some royal genealogy in order to maintain her sanity, several pirates burst through the door, startling her. But they weren’t here for her; they opened the doors of the other cells, and began dragging their other prisoners back out. She resisted the urge to cover her ears to shut out the shouting, but she did permit herself to shut her eyes. At least the brig was far enough below deck that soon after the door was shut behind them, she could no longer hear much of anything.

She tried to feel badly for the men, knowing that they had been executed, but instead she mostly felt relief that she was free of their company. And the fact that she had been left alone bode well for her own survival; there was no reason to split up executions, which meant there likely was not one in store for her.

That evening, instead of the cabin boy bringing her supper, Hook himself appeared. “How have you been finding the accommodations, Your Highness?”

“Certainly the nicest brig I’ve had the pleasure of finding myself in.”

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t you rather have a nice cabin all to yourself, complete with a feather mattress and a porthole?”

“If wishes were horses,” she replied.

“I could easily make it happen.”

“In exchange for what?”

“The answer to my question.” He stepped as close to the bars as he could, until his nose was almost pressed against cold metal. “What exactly was the Princess of Misthaven doing when she was kidnapped by her kingdom’s enemy?”

“And I asked in return,” she reminded him, “just why you’re waging war on Camelot. I suppose neither of us shall receive an answer.”

His upper lip curled, turning his handsome face quite ugly. “And as I said, that is not any of your business.”

“Just as my activities are none of yours.”

“Then you’ll rot in here.”

She rolled her eyes; it was time to give up and go home. “Look, just let me write a letter to my parents. Once they have it in their hands, they’ll believe that you have in fact kidnapped me, and you’ll be rewarded with whatever riches you desire once you return me to them.”

“No.”

“No?” This was … unexpected. Not simply that a pirate was refusing an easy ransom, but that her back-up plan, her one foolproof method of escape, had apparently failed. “What do you mean?”

“You were up to something, Your Highness. You were out there on the seas with some sort of goal when Arthur’s ships found you. I don’t believe you were enjoying a pleasure cruise.”

“So unless I tell you, you’ll continue to hold me prisoner?”

“I’m so very glad we understand each other.”

“Very well.” She took a deep breath. “Arthur had sent me a message via one of his spies, intimating his desire to negotiate directly with me. We were meant to meet on the seas to avoid my parents finding out. Obviously, it was a ruse, and I was a fool to fall for it.”

He studied her face for a moment, and she knew her lie had failed when she spotted a muscle in his jaw twitching uncontrollably. “If not for the bars that separate us, I would slap you for your insolence. How  _ dare _ you lie to me?”

“You would hit a woman?” she challenged.

“I would hit anyone,” he bit back. “Were you a member of my crew, you’d face worse.”

“Well, I’m not a member of your crew.”

“I  _ won _ you when I beat that ship into submission; what was their prize is now mine. And you will tell me what you were doing that led to your capture.”

“If you don’t want me to lie to you, then perhaps you should stop demanding that I answer that question.”

“Then you’ll remain here until you come to your senses and tell me anyway.”

“I will answer your question when  _ you _ answer  _ mine,” _ she reminded him. “And besides, I know there’s a cabin ready for me. You might as well let me use it, lest the man who gave it up grow irritated that he was forced from his quarters only for them to stand empty.”

The cords in his neck joined the muscle in his jaw. “Excuse me?”

“You wouldn’t have come down here with your offer unless you were prepared for me to agree. Therefore, there’s a cabin ready for me at this moment.”

“Then there’s no incentive for you to give me what I want.”

“What makes you think there will ever be one?”

For a moment, she wondered if he might still slap her, as his fingers played with the padlock on the door. But she was the Princess of Misthaven, and she was not going to be out-negotiated by a common pirate. If he had to resort to striking her, or to worsening her living conditions as a method of torture, then so be it. She would not give up her secret; her very life was at stake.

“Then one thing,” he said. “One piece. Where were you going?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your destination,” he pressed. “You were traveling. You refuse to tell me why, but perhaps you’ll tell me where?”

How revealing would her destination be? While Misthaven and Oz had no direct conflict, it was common knowledge that Misthaven was wholly anti-magic, while Oz itself was inherently magical. Hook would have to know immediately that there was something strange going on if a member of Misthaven royalty were traveling to Oz. Would he suspect the truth? Or was that too outlandish for even him to consider?

“Just the destination?” she asked.

“Just the destination,” he confirmed.

Within moments of her answer, she was watching the sunset from the porthole of her comfortable cabin.

* * *

The following evening, instead of the cabin boy coming by with her meal, Hook himself arrived, though he was empty-handed. “I trust you’re settling into your new quarters well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Anything you require?”

“Besides my freedom?” she quipped. “If you bring me a pen and parchment, I can write a letter to my parents regarding my situation.”

“So that we can arrange a ransom?” She nodded. “And why exactly would I do a thing like that?”

She scoffed. “So the plan is to keep me here indefinitely as some sort of pet? I’ve no intention of being your whore.”

It was his turn to scoff. “The rule on this ship is that the pleasures of the body must be given willingly. Besides, I prefer my women to be on the more experienced side; I’ve no interest in delicate flowers such as yourself.”

She resisted the urge to correct him; when she’d turned sixteen and was of age to begin courtship, her mother had given her a very enlightening talk about the importance of  _ compatibility _ when it came to suitors. She’d enthusiastically taken that advice; delicate flower, she was not.

“So what is it then?” she asked.

“I want an answer to my question.”

“Your—we already discussed this,” she said with exasperation. “I told you my destination; that’s all you’re getting.”

“For now,” he said ominously. “My curiosity  _ will _ be satisfied.”

“And what threats shall you use this time?” Her words might provoke him to violence, but she was too angry to care about consequences. What more did he want from her? Why did he care so much about her purpose in Oz? “Shall I be returned to the brig? Stranded on a deserted isle until I beg you for rescue? Or shall you strike me, as you wanted to so badly yesterday?”

His hand twitched, and she flinched involuntarily. “It seems you are capable of fear after all, Princess.” Her face burned with embarrassment. “Fortunately, I will get what I want from you without resorting to any of those tactics.”

“And how is that?”

“By bringing you to your destination.”

“Excuse me?”

He smiled. “We’re on our way to Oz as we speak. In fact, we’ll be there in just a few short days.”

“We—what?” It was an effort to keep her jaw from dropping.

Hook seemed incredibly pleased with her reaction. “Oz, darling. You were headed there when Arthur interrupted you, and now I’m bringing you there myself.”

She ignored the endearment; he was clearly trying to get a rise of out her. “So you think that bringing me to Oz will mean I’ll automatically answer your question?”

“Won’t you have to?” he asked. “See, you might think you have me figured out, pulling your little stunt to get out of the brig. But it goes both ways, sweetheart. You wouldn’t have been sneaking out of your cozy, safe palace and risking kidnapping for nothing. Whatever had you traveling to Oz must be important enough that once you arrive, you’ll need to complete your mission.”

Now  _ she _ had to resist the urge to strike  _ him. _ How dare he manipulate her like this? Or maybe he was bluffing, lying about the course he’d set so that she would tell him the truth in advance. Unlikely!

But what would she do if he were telling the truth? She had no desire to see which of them could be the most stubborn; she imagined that such a tack would result in the ship sitting in port in Oz for months as she refused to budge and he refused to sail elsewhere.

But maybe it wouldn’t even matter. He  _ was _ bringing her to Oz, her intended destination. If he wanted to find the truth, the answer to his question, he would need to help her find the witch she sought. And then the witch would help her, and that would be the end of it.

Once Princess Emma had no magic, there was no possibility for blackmail.

This could work entirely in her favor. A fearsome pirate captain, powerful enough to protect her, and almost eager to get her to her goal … he would do anything to learn her secret, even if it meant helping her along the way.

“We’ll see,” was all she said.

He nodded; her reply was apparently enough to satisfy him. “Now, would you join me for supper, love?”

He was really pushing this transition to endearments; she rolled her eyes. “I think you mean, ‘Your Highness.’”

“And why can’t it be both?” he asked with a wink.

His cabin was much more spacious than hers, which was to be expected. She was a bit surprised at his taste in decor, though. She’d imagined a dastardly pirate to either prefer something a bit more austere, since many pirates were former naval men, or perhaps to lean toward the dark and grotesque.

Instead, the cabin was quite homey, with soft pillows on the chairs, tasteful artwork secured to the walls, and luxurious fabrics artfully draped over the bed. Everything was richly colored, primarily in jewel tones, and it felt as though she were in an enormous jewelry box.

“Like what you see,  _ Highness?” _ He seemed to take great pleasure in emphasizing the slightly incorrect address.

“It’s quite nice.”

“You were expecting something more macabre, I’d wager.”

“More skulls of your enemies, yes.” He chuckled as he pulled out her chair for her. “Such a gentleman.”

“I’m always a gentleman,” he replied as he took his own seat.

“Except for when you’re threatening to strike me.”

She’d said it in a joking manner, though it wasn’t exactly a light topic, but his face clouded. “That was ungentlemanly of me,” he admitted. “Both threatening to slap you, and making the threat out of anger and frustration. I apologize.”

“I accept your apology.” She wasn’t so sure he was being genuine, given that he  _ was _ a pirate, and she didn’t have enough evidence to suggest that his earlier behavior was an anomaly. But his expression and tone seemed sincere, and there was no use making a fuss over it. She’d be on her toes around him either way.

Supper was at least a pleasant affair; the food was no different from what she’d been served throughout her time on the Jolly Roger, though the portions were more sizeable now that she was free of the brig, and the presentation was certainly more appetizing.

Having company was also rather nice, and Captain Hook was a surprisingly excellent companion. As they spoke, she was careful to skirt around any topics relating to politics and her mission to Oz, instead focusing on the trials and tribulations of having a royal upbringing, as well as some of her less well-known accomplishments. He seemed quite impressed when she mentioned her swordsmanship and archery skills, two things she thought were common knowledge outside of Misthaven, but she did like surprising him all the same.

His side of the conversation was more revealing than he probably intended, which was fascinating. He was very obviously working hard to sanitize some of his stories of piracy on the high seas, even after she made it plain that she was no shrinking violet when it came to violence. But it was his mannerisms that caught her attention; whoever Captain Hook had been before he’d become a pirate, he’d very clearly been trained in courtly etiquette.

Although it certainly wasn’t common, it wasn’t unusual for pirates to get their start in a navy before deserting and becoming outlaws. But Hook’s specific tics weren’t indicative of just any ordinary sailor.

Whoever he’d been before, he’d have to have been an officer. A high ranking one. He was a captain now, but his flamboyance belied an insecurity that implied the ranking was not one bestowed upon him by a superior. A lieutenant, perhaps?

Whose navy he’d had to have deserted from was an easier question to answer. Whether it was his clear hatred of Camelot, or the subtle accent and cadence he spoke with, both made it obvious: Arthur’s.

Her original question was still unanswered—just  _ why _ did he loathe Arthur enough to have turned pirate? But things between them were more even now; he knew her destination, but she now had a better idea of his past, who he really was. What else could she learn before they reached Oz?

Unfortunately, that was all for the evening; once they’d finished supper, he escorted her back to her cabin, and that was that.

But there would always be tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

The following day, there was a knock on the door far earlier than Emma expected for the midday meal. But it wasn’t the cabin boy bringing her a tray off-schedule; instead, Hook greeted her.

“Is everything all right?” She couldn’t think of a reason he would be coming to see her so early. They were still a few days away from Oz, surely. Or had he decided to renege and allow her to write a letter to her parents regarding a ransom?

“I thought you might indulge me, Your Highness.” She frowned, unsure of where this would be going. “Last night, you bragged about your abilities with a sword.”

“Bragged?” she asked sharply.

“Aye, bragged.” He grinned, clearly enjoying himself already. “Unless you’d like to prove such gloating is justified?”

Was he seriously suggesting that they spar? What if she were to best him?

He seemed to be reading her mind. “Even if you’re as talented with a blade as you suggested, you  _ will _ be surrounded by my entire crew. I doubt you’d succeed in taking over the ship.”

“I’ve nothing suitable to wear.”

“I’m sure we’d have something that would fit you.” The way he eyed her figure was clearly meant for show and not a true assessment, but she blushed all the same. “Of course, you’re welcome to decline my invitation.”

What was his goal here? There was the possibility that he was bored, or that he assumed  _ she _ was bored (which yes, she was) and wanted to provide her with some entertainment. But a true pirate captain wouldn’t care about the latter, and a man such as himself would have his own ways of occupying his time without the need for this sort of diversion if it were the former.

It was an appraisal.

What sort of princess was she, he must be wondering? Was she a liar who exaggerated her skills to impress a pirate captain? If so, would she try to hide her lie by refusing to demonstrate her abilities, or would she accept and act a sore loser if she failed to best him? Or if she was being truthful, would she demur out of some sense of modesty or superiority?

It was to her advantage to keep him interested long enough to bring her to Oz. And she would quite like to get out of this confining cabin and exercise a bit. “I accept,” she said, and he smiled as though he were a young boy receiving a birthday gift. “I will wait here for an appropriate change of clothes to be delivered.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Not half an hour later, she was above deck, breathing in the salty fresh air. The crew seemed amused by the turn of events, although most of them continued to work, most likely because of their captain’s orders; all of them looked as though they’d rather watch the upcoming spectacle.

She was glad she’d accepted Hook’s unorthodox offer, if only for the temporary freedom and the new clothing. Her gown had been filthy, chafing her in all the worst places, and she wasn’t sure that after their sparring match she’d be able to salvage it enough to put it back on. Not only were her new clothes clean, they fit quite well; they were more than suitable for sparring, and comfortable enough that she hoped he would let her keep them for the duration of her stay.

Her  _ stay, _ she thought to herself with a dark chuckle. As though she were on holiday.

“Ready, Highness?” She turned to find Hook, his blade already in hand, and Starkey beside him holding out a comparable one to her. “Or do you wish to forfeit already?”

She rolled her eyes as she took the cutlass from Starkey. “I’m here, aren’t I?” The balance of the cutlass was unfamiliar; she was unused to fighting with a curved blade. But the only way to adjust to the new weapon would be to use it. And she certainly wouldn’t blame the weapon if she lost; that she preferred to fight with a straight blade did not mean that she never could have learned to use a cutlass.

“Shall we?”

“Might as well.” No sense in dragging it out, after all.

Their duel began in a manner that further confirmed her suspicions about his origin; he was polite as they began to parry, following the invisible, unspoken rule set that the gentry observed. She knew better than to expect it would continue forever, though, and she felt a burst of satisfaction as he dove into a dirtier move, which she easily evaded.

The question on her mind now was whether or not she could continue to prove a worthy opponent if she didn’t also engage in such shady tactics. Her performance in this sparring match would help control how he thought of her, after all. If she stuck with proper technique and lost quite badly, she would appear naive, and if she won by playing dirty, she would seem an untrustworthy person. She would have to win, or at least put up a decent fight, without resorting to underhanded tactics.

The match grew more heated as Hook’s technique became less and less recognizable. He still had some tells, which she took full advantage of, but she was unhappy to find that she was on the defensive far more than the offensive. She recalled her father’s voice as he’d helped her train:  _ No one ever won a duel through defense alone. _

Yes, it would mean taking a risk, opening herself up to the possibility of getting hurt. But better to lose while trying to win, than to lose because she never tried.

She spotted a good enough opportunity as Hook pulled back from his own lunge. One thing that she did have to her advantage was speed and agility; being a tiny little princess wasn’t always a bad thing.

She was disappointed when her blade connected with his; he’d parried only just in time, but still successfully. But his eyes lit up. “Sneaky, eh, love?”

“I think you mean speedy,” she retorted, intentionally ignoring the endearment. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to rile her on purpose, or if he was forgetting himself in the heat of the moment, but she couldn’t let it affect her either way.

From that point on, though, he became even more aggressive, slowly pushing her back towards the railing and eliciting cheers and shouts from the crewmembers who were watching. He’d been holding back, she realized, underestimating her skills and trying to give her a chance to look competent.

She’d show him competent.

One of the benefits to retaining the figurative highground with her technique was that his was much messier than hers. She had to be on her toes, as she couldn’t expect him to follow proper protocol, but there were benefits to that very same protocol. He was often off-balance and needed more time to reset his stance; it was easy to keep him off-balance for longer periods of time, or to attack while he reset. She still had to be on the alert for the unexpected, and he nearly tagged her a few times, but soon, she had him back in the middle of the deck, sweating profusely and breathing heavily.

“Holding back on me, were you?”

“Could say the same about you.” She was a little out of breath herself.

At this point, she thought that one of them would tire out first and make a mistake to end the duel. But instead, he ramped up the intensity once again, and she found herself doing the same out of necessity; if she was going to lose, it wouldn’t be against the railing. But she felt the beginnings of a knot forming in her stomach; winning was becoming less and less likely.

She was trying her best to give it her all, and while she felt they were evenly matched, he’d managed to step up each time she sufficiently challenged him. He probably had more up his sleeve, even if he was tiring; and who was to say he wasn’t  _ still _ holding back to keep her from humiliating herself?

She saw the movement and registered what it meant before he even thrust forward: there it was, his winning move. Damn everything, she was going to lose right this moment.

Damn it!

And then a piece of rigging fell from a mast and struck the deck, startling Hook and briefly drawing his attention. His winning attack had been interrupted and aborted.

Oh no.

Her magic had been quiet here on the Jolly Roger, at first because she’d spent so much energy trying to contain it in the brig, and then because she’d been oddly distracted by the dynamic between herself and Hook. Now, in the heat of the moment, she’d forgotten it existed, and her emotions were getting the best of her yet again.

She needed to end the duel immediately, before her magic wreaked any more havoc on the ship.

“Well, that was—”

But as soon as he turned to face her and finish their duel, she didn’t even let him finish his sentence.

The crew gasped and hooted as their captain fell to the deck with a groan. Emma shook out her hand as best she could; it had been years and years since she’d punched anyone in the face (unladylike, apparently), and she’d forgotten how much it hurt.

“Bloody  _ hell. _ ” He’d dropped his cutlass so he could rub at his cheek.

Right, she needed to finish the duel, officially; she quickly stepped towards him and held her blade an inch or so from his throat. “Concede?”

The crew was whooping—to her surprise, enthusiastically. “Aye, I concede,” Hook said. He sounded dazed, not bitter. “Perhaps you’ll help me up?”

Once he was on his feet again, he continued to nurse his injury. “Well-played, love. I did  _ not _ expect that.” No, he wouldn’t have expected her to cheat, she thought angrily.

“I concede victory to the lady!” he announced to the crew, and they cheered and laughed. “Now back to work, you scoundrels!” He turned back to her, looking almost boyishly excited despite the bruise she could see forming on his face. “Come, love, you’ve worked up quite a sweat. I’ll have our cabin boy fetch you some bath water, and perhaps a fresh change of clothing.”

“Thank you.” His smile faltered a bit at the unsteadiness of her voice, but he seemed to think better of it before saying anything. Instead, once Starkey came over to take her cutlass, Hook simply waved for her to follow him below deck. Soon, she was alone in her tiny cabin with a hip bath of steaming, clean water, a bar of scented soap, a change of clothes, and a promise of a tray of lunch when the cabin boy came to remove the tub.

She ate curled up on her tiny bunk, sighing heavily as her cabin’s lantern flickered in response to her stress. Bathing had helped her mood somewhat, but it was impossible to wash away something as pervasive as behaving counter to her principles.

Why had she done it? She could have waited for him to regain his composure. She could have even raised her blade to his throat then! Or if it was just about ending the fight to keep her magic in control, she could have lost to him.

But no. Had she waited for him to return his attention to their duel, he might have retained the advantage and won. Had she opted to use her blade, he might have parried somehow and denied her the victory. As for losing to end the fight quickly?

She’d punched him in the face because she’d wanted to win.

Which had, of course, defeated the purpose of accepting his offer to spar. She’d wanted to show him the sort of person she was, and while winning was more satisfying than losing, she would have preferred to lose after fighting honorably. But instead, she’d panicked and thrown honor aside, all to  _ win. _

She hadn’t simply behaved dishonorably. She’d been petty.

Her magic knocked her fork around the tray in response, and she sighed.

When she arrived at Hook’s cabin for supper, she was ready to forget the whole business and enjoy the distraction of the meal. To her surprise, he met her with an almost lascivious once-over.

“You can’t possibly think me attractive in these clothes,” she said, too annoyed to care about the impropriety.

He coughed, somehow caught off-guard that she’d noticed the obvious leering. “Shall we eat?”

As they ate, she found herself uninterested in the conversation; it was quite a shift from the previous evening, when she’d been nearly delighted to have company. But Hook only seemed to want to talk about their little duel, giddily replaying his favorite parts and playfully ribbing her about the way it had ended.

Being constantly reminded that she’d cheated did nothing to improve her mood. She pushed around the carrots on her plate as she let out the most polite, non-committal responses she could think of.

“Would you care to share with me what has you so quiet this evening?”

“Excuse me?” She looked up to find him wearing a cross expression.

“I thought it would be more polite than accusing you of sulking,” he replied. “Though I suppose that would be more accurate.”

“Princesses don’t sulk,” she replied, reciting her etiquette tutors. “We contemplate.”

“Then what are you contemplating?”

“Can’t my own thoughts remain private?” She hadn’t meant to sound as irritated or defensive as she did, and out of the corner of her eye, she spotted one of the hanging lamps swing out of sync with the others. She took a steady breath; she needed to remain calm, or her magic would do even more to draw attention to itself.

“This is about our sparring match, clearly.” His eyes narrowed. “Why would you be so upset when you won?”

“I’m not upset.”

“You know how I feel about you lying to me, darling.”

Again with the endearments; she was tired of this subtle undermining of her authority. “It’s  _ Your Highness, _ as you very well know.”

“Well,  _ Your Highness, _ I’ve heard of sore losers, but this manner of sore winner is one I wouldn’t have expected.”

“You’re ruining a perfectly fine meal.”

“We’re no longer dueling,” he said forcefully. “So stop dodging; what did I do wrong?”

“What did—” What had  _ he _ done wrong? With regards to the duel, nothing; and that was the point. “You think this is about  _ your _ behavior?”

“Did any member of my crew make you uncomfortable? It was Thompson, wasn’t it? Bloody hell, I told him if he steps out of line one more time—”

“Your crew did nothing. Can’t we just drop this and enjoy supper?”

“It’s hard for me to enjoy myself when you’re so aggressively sullen. What did I do?”

“Nothing! You did nothing wrong!”

“Then what on earth has you so—”

“I cheated, all right? I’m angry at myself because I had to cheat to win!”

He stared at her as though she’d grown an additional head. “How the bloody hell did you cheat?”

“Are you serious? I punched you in the face while you were distracted!”

“I’m not sure how that’s cheating, unless you caused the distraction.”

She couldn’t admit that she had, albeit entirely unintentionally. But that wasn’t even why she was upset with herself. “You would have won. You were about to win.”

“I had been about to win  _ before _ the rigging fell,” he countered. “But the rigging distracted us both. Had I been the superior swordsman, it wouldn’t have caused me to lose.”

“I should have used my sword,” she argued. “There was no reason to strike you.”

“It certainly hurt, but do I seem upset about it?”

“That doesn’t matter!” she spat. “That’s not important!”

“Why does it matter, then?”

“Because it was dishonorable!”

He snorted disparagingly. “So?”

“So?”

“So what if it was dishonorable? You won.”

“Unfairly! Had I brought my blade up instead, you would have had a chance to parry it.”

“But you used a more winning strategy. Who cares if it’s honorable?”

“I do!”

He shook his head. “Trust me, Princess: honor brings nothing but pain and suffering. You’d be best to begin to think for yourself, instead of behaving like a lamb being led to the slaughter.”

His words were so offensive that she did not consider hers well in response. Her vision was almost cloudy with anger, and she spotted lightning through the windows of the cabin. “Spoken like a selfish pirate. Tell me,  _ Lieutenant _ , why should I take such advice from a naval deserter?”

His face turned pale. “What did you just say to me?”

“I asked why I should take any advice about honor from someone who willingly signed up to protect his kingdom, and then deserted. Arthur may be a despot, but I question the character of a man who voluntarily agreed to serve in his navy and then abandoned his post for a life of lawlessness.”

“Who told you?” He was flushed with anger now. “Who told you? Was it Starkey? Smee?”

“No one,” she replied coldly. “You simply underestimated me, Captain. Perhaps you won’t make the same mistake again.”

The muscles of his jaw worked furiously, and she was sure that his previous threat to strike her would now become reality, regardless of what he’d claimed the evening before. She had certainly earned it, not just by rousing his ire tonight, but by striking him first during their duel. She braced herself for his hand, but remained seated, eyes open and on him; she would not let on just how angry or afraid she was.

Especially since her fear was increasing; the weather outside grew worse, and she knew that it wasn’t due to any natural meteorological phenomenon. The lanterns were shaking out of sync with the ship’s rocking, and the silverware trembled on the table.

“Get out.”

She needed no more direction than that, all but fleeing the cabin as she heard silverware clatter to the floor in her wake.

* * *

The next two days were a lonely return to boredom. Emma was mostly confined to her cabin, though she was granted an hour each day to spend on deck, supervised by a crew member. But as had been the case during her time in the brig, she took her meals alone, and Hook was nowhere to be found when she ventured above. She couldn’t blame him for avoiding her, and his absence made it easier for her to control her magic.

The third morning, she was considering a way to surreptitiously procure a writing utensil and parchment, and then bribe a crew member in order to get her letter to her parents, when Hook finally arrived at her door.

Though part of her upbringing and training was learning how to quickly find the right thing to say in any situation, she found herself at a loss for words. His face was grimly determined, and she knew that she was not forgiven for their last encounter. Was she to be executed now?

“Come, Your Highness.”

Yes, likely execution. “May I be permitted one request?”

His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

“I would like to write a letter to my parents, so at the very least, they might know what became of me.”

“What exactly do you think I’m fetching you for?”

It was her turn to be confused. “You’re not executing me?”

Though he was far less angry this time, he was just as offended as he had been that last night they’d dined together. “What sort of villain do you take me for?”

“Then what’s going on?” she asked, instead of answering.

“We’ve arrived at Oz.”

So he’d made good on his promise after all; she chided herself internally for not spending the past two days preparing herself for the next leg of her journey. All of these unexpected kidnappings had derailed her mindset, to the point where she had to make an effort to remind herself of the plan she’d formed ages ago in her bedchambers at home.

Her legs were unsteady as she braced them on dry land for the first time in weeks. “Careful, love.” Strong arms surrounded her, propping her up, and she tensed at the unexpected contact. “You’ll need some time to regain your land legs.”

“I’ll be sure to.” He followed her as she made her way into port. “I don’t need a chaperone, you know. Especially since I no longer look like a princess.”

“You’re still my responsibility, darling.”

Right, he believed her to belong to him; she’d somehow forgotten in the past several days, and she didn’t like the reminder. “Just don’t get in my way,” she warned. “I’ve come too far to have you ruin this.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Given the immense difficulty she’d experienced trying to get to Oz, she was pleased but surprised to find that the next step of the journey went much more smoothly than she’d imagined it would. A quick couple of questions at a local tavern led her to an apothecary, who informed her that the witch she sought was not even a half-day’s walk west. And there was even a clearly marked, well-paved road that would take her directly there.

As she made her inquiries, Hook remained a silent, threatening presence a few steps behind her; without exception, the people she spoke with viewed him with trepidation as they answered her questions a little hurriedly. But as they began their trek to the witch, as soon as there were no others on the road to overhear them, he finally spoke.

“No wonder you were so unforthcoming about your mission.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I know your secret, love.”

Chills flooded her. “That clever, are you?”

“Extremely.”

Fine, so he knew. “And are you at all capable of discretion?”

“Oh, I certainly am. But it’s not as though your secret won’t be out before long.”

“And why’s that?” After all, if he could be discreet, there was no reason for such a threat.

“You really think that if the Wicked Witch of the West agrees to aid your kingdom, that the rest of the world won’t hear about it? Ah, careful there, darling; I told you it would take some time for you to readjust.”

He was referring to the way that her legs shook, misinterpreting her relief at his mistake for lack of balance, and she permitted him to steady her again. For all that he’d returned to his cold, cruel self in the wake of their argument, he still handled her very attentively.

They fell back into silence for the rest of the journey, and soon enough, they arrived at a stately manor. There were some odd birds of prey surrounding it; some circled it ominously, and others perched on some of the parapets. “Vultures?” she asked, though they looked nothing like any vultures she’d seen before.

“Flying monkeys,” Hook corrected, though he seemed more distracted by the creatures than judgmental regarding her misidentification. “She uses them as her lackeys; I’ve never seen this many all together before, and I can’t say it’s not unnerving.”

“I’ll have to agree with you there.”

“As far as powerful sorcerers go, there are others you might be better off consulting for assistance.”

She frowned. “Are you trying to help me, Captain? I thought your goal was to determine my mission, not to aid me in it.”

He shrugged. “I suppose it’s no secret between us that I have no love for Arthur, and helping you hurts him.”

“Well, I’m fine.” She shouldn’t have been so surprised that he would consider her a tool to be used against his enemy, and yet it still stung. “And this is who I’ve chosen to consult.”

“Very well.”

They were wordlessly greeted at the door by one of the flying monkeys; it was a peculiar sight to be sure, even before it gestured for them to follow it inside and down a hallway. But soon enough, she would know if this witch could help her or not, and then they could escape the presence of these strange, unnatural beings.

The creature led them to a spacious receiving room, filled with ornate furniture and decor. The ambiance struck her as more befitting of an old money member of the gentry rather than a powerful witch, but she supposed that if you had great magic and influence, you might as well decorate in whichever way you pleased.

“Well, I won’t say  _ this _ isn’t a surprise.” The woman who swept into the room was startling, her copper hair contrasting almost noisily with olive green skin. Emma began to wish that Hook’s point about finding a different sorcerer had been relevant to her situation; she’d been expecting the witch to be a reclusive but friendly crone, not someone so malevolent-looking.

But she wasn’t seeking just any sorcerer to help her and her country. She was after something more specific, and from all she had read this was the only person who might be able to help. And so it would have to be this woman, or likely no one at all.

The woman continued. “I’d heard rumors that the Princess of Misthaven was missing, but I never expected that she would arrive at  _ my _ doorstep, and certainly not in the company of Captain Hook.”

Emma swallowed hard. “I’ve come to ask for your help, Madame Witch.”

The witch snorted in amusement. “Call me Zelena, dear. And while I know of your kingdom’s plight regarding Camelot, I’m not sure your parents would accept any help I might be inclined to offer.”

She was acutely aware of Hook’s presence. Even if he might eventually learn the true reason for her journey to Oz, she was deeply uncomfortable that she would have to make her plea to Zelena in front of him. It was such a personal matter; it was humiliating enough that she even had to ask this stranger for help. That she had to do so with Hook watching on was nearly mortifying.

But she had to press on; she’d risked everything to get here in the first place, and she couldn’t just give up because of a little embarrassment. At least he was standing behind her, and she could be spared a view of his reaction as she revealed her true motives.

She steeled herself, making sure that her back was completely straight and that her chin was up. “The help is not for my kingdom. It’s for me.”

“For you?” Zelena raised an eyebrow. “Color me intrigued. What could Misthaven’s princess possibly need my help for?”

“You are aware of the law in Misthaven regarding the use of magic?” Zelena nodded. “Anyone who uses magic must be executed, without exception.”

“I can’t exactly change that,” Zelena replied, clearly confused as to what would be asked of her.

“No, and neither can I,” Emma admitted. “Not in time anyway.”

“In time?” And then the witch’s eyes sharpened. “Oh, so  _ you _ have magic.”

“I do.” It was the first time she’d voiced the truth, and that somehow made it feel more real, despite the fact that it had been real enough to drive her to Oz in the first place. “And I’ve heard that you are capable of removing someone’s magic.”

“I am,” Zelena confirmed. “But why not just refrain from using it until you can strike your barbaric law from the books?”

“I can’t control it,” she admitted. “I’ve tried, but it slips through. Someone will notice soon, assuming no one has already.”

Zelena pressed her lips together in thought for a moment. “It’s that strong? You really can’t contain it?”

“No, I can’t. I’ve been trying for years.”

“I think I can help you then.”

Emma’s shoulders dropped in relief, hearing the words she’d always longed to hear. “Oh, thank you. I don’t have any gold with me—I lost it when Camelot’s ships intercepted mine, but once I return home, I can—”

“I’ve little use for gold,” Zelena interrupted. “But don’t worry about payment.”

“Oh, well … well, you have my deepest gratitude.”

It was finally about to happen; she would be free of this magic, free to go home without fearing her discovery and death. She—

“There must be some payment,” Hook said. She’d momentarily forgotten that he was present, and she turned to him in confusion. “Her Highness might be too desperate to consider the consequences, or too naive regarding the matter, but I happen to know that all magic comes with a price.”

“Astute, Captain,” Zelena replied. “However, I think that she’ll find the manner of payment to be entirely acceptable.”

“Then declare it,” he challenged.

“Easily done.” Zelena turned back to Emma. “In exchange for removing your magic, the payment I require  _ is _ your magic.”

“Oh.” Zelena had been correct; she  _ did _ find this entirely acceptable. “Of course. I obviously have no need for it.”

“I strenuously object to this,” Hook said.

“It’s not exactly your business, Captain,” she reminded him.

“If Your Highness would give us a moment,” Zelena said. “Perhaps I can assuage the Captain’s fears.”

“Doubtful,” Hook muttered.

“Er, all right.” Should she step outside the room, or—

“Come, Captain.” Or Zelena would lead Hook out of the room.

Left alone, she contemplated sitting in one of the ostentatious chairs. But her apprehension and excitement got the best of her; she could not sit still, knowing that soon, she would achieve the goal she’d set out to accomplish.

No more magic.

She would have no magic anymore, perhaps in just a few short minutes. She could return home safely, with no fatal secret to be discovered, no invisible death sentence hanging over her head. Never would her parents have to consider the unthinkable, executing their own child.

Soon, she’d be free. She could almost taste it.

It was odd, though, that there was any need for Zelena to speak to Hook about the matter, privately or not. It simply did not concern him, and while he could  _ strenuously object _ all he liked, she couldn’t see any reason why he needed to be convinced.

It made her quite anxious, and she shifted back and forth on her feet, a nervous habit her parents had tried to break her of years ago.

But finally they returned, Zelena with a smug smile across her face, and Hook with an angry scowl on his. “We’re all set here,” Zelena declared.

“So you can remove my magic?” Emma asked hopefully.

“Unfortunately, I can’t remove it directly and still keep it for myself. Otherwise, it would be much too easy for us magic users to snatch each other’s powers.”

“But …” So this had all been for nothing? “I’m sorry, but why would you say you could help me if you can’t?”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t help you, just that I can’t be the one to directly remove it.”

“I won’t do it,” Hook said angrily.

“I don’t understand,” Emma said.

Zelena pointed at Hook. “He can remove your magic for you. At least,  _ now _ he can; I had to get that all set up for you.”

“I  _ said—” _ Hook began.

“Yes, we know, we all heard you,” Zelena replied dismissively. “Anyway, Princess, my work here is done. If you want your magic gone, you just need to convince this handsome chap to do the job. Once he agrees, and I’m sure he will—though he is being quite stubborn, isn’t he?—the spell I’ve cast will trigger, and your magic will transfer to me.”

“It’s none of his business whether or not I keep my magic, and I can’t say I’m happy that you’d leave the decision up to him,” Emma said. She didn’t want to feel so angry at the woman who was agreeing to help her essentially free of charge. But now her fate was in Hook’s hands, metaphorically speaking, and that was unacceptable.

“You wanted my help, and this is the only way you’ll get it. How else do you plan on paying for my services? Your magic is the only payment I’ll accept, and this is how you can transfer it to me. If you’re not happy with it? Then find another way to solve your pathetic little problem. Now, get out before I have my servants escort you more forcibly.”

And with that, she disappeared in a cloud of green smoke.

* * *

Their walk back to the ship was done in stormy silence. Emma had so much she wanted to say, that she  _ needed _ to say, but there had been too many travelers on the road and not enough privacy.

Even now, tucked away in Hook’s cabin, she knew that members of the crew were likely to overhear any conversation they would have regarding the situation. Especially because she was so angry that she was sure that she’d fail to keep her voice down.

But she was close—so close to her goal, so close to freedom, and all that stood in the way was a brooding pirate captain wearing too much kohl.

He spoke first. “You can’t do this.”

“It’s not any of your concern, nor is it your decision to make.”

“Like it or not, it is, thanks to that witch.”

“How dare you?” The lanterns began to swing and flicker.

“How dare I? How dare I what, exactly? How dare I protect you?”

“Protect me?” she asked incredulously. “By forcing me to remain in a state which will kill me?”

“Nothing’s forcing you to remain in Misthaven,” he countered.

“I’m the crown princess! The sole heir to the throne!”

He scoffed. “You disappeared without a trace on a mission where you could have died, and you very nearly ended up in Arthur’s hands; clearly your kingdom needs to start preparing for your departure to be permanent anyway.”

“Well, I have not died,” she said stiffly. “And Arthur’s kidnapping failed. The fact is that I can go back, and I must.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” His tone was shifting; anger still ran through it, but there was a frustration she couldn’t quite recognize. “There is no must. You don’t have to return to a kingdom that would kill you.”

“So I should just, what? Leave?”

“Yes, you should leave!”

She snorted. “Leave and go where?”

“Anywhere you wish.” He lowered his voice, and she could recognize the undercurrent now: pleading. “This ship can take you anywhere, anywhere you can imagine.”

With no money, and her anonymity gone, it was a terrible suggestion. But beyond that, she couldn’t anyway. “The fact is that there is a way I can safely return,” she reminded him. “Zelena gave me a way, one that I  _ can _ take. And as the sole heir to the throne, I cannot willingly abandon my people.”

He sneered. “Honor. I’d almost forgotten, that’s all you seem to care about.”

“I have a responsibility to my kingdom, whether or not you believe that’s foolish.”

“Honor without thought? Of course it’s foolish.”

“Tell me, Captain, why I should listen to anything a pirate has to say about honor?”

He clenched his jaw, and she wondered if she would be unceremoniously sent back to her cabin again, as before. But then he spoke, his voice softer and full of pain. “Honor killed my brother.”

She wanted to challenge him, to ask just how a concept as abstract as honor could directly kill. But if she did, his anger might spike and spiral out of control, and that was no way to get what she needed from him. Instead, she simply said, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and stared angrily at the floor. “He was the most honorable man I knew, and he’s dead because he refused to question the orders of our king.”

Arthur, she recalled, but she did not interrupt.

“He was my captain,” he continued. “We were tasked with traveling to a far-off land and retrieving a plant with incredible medicinal properties. Arthur personally explained to us that just a drop of its sap could cure any ill; no one in Camelot would ever be sick or injured again.” He paused, as though in pain. “We were to be heroes.”

“I’ve never heard of such a plant.”

“Aye, I doubt such a plant even exists.” He sighed. “We arrived in that mystical land and discovered the plant, but I found it menacing, hardly what you’d imagine a curative to look like. I voiced my concern to my brother, but as my captain, he overruled me.”

“You didn’t—”

“Bring it back? No. I protested enough that my brother, to silence me, impulsively tested the sap on himself. He wanted to prove that it was exactly as our king had said.”

She knew what would happen next, and yet waiting for him to continue was excruciating.

“I returned to Camelot with his body. Arthur seemed disappointed to have lost an officer, but he’d known all along of the plant’s true nature. I stood there next to my brother’s casket as he directed me to finish the assignment, and bring back the vile poison.”

“And you didn’t,” she finished.

“No, I bloody didn’t. Once back on the ship, I gave my brother a proper burial and informed the crew that they could join me or leave.”

“And thus Captain Hook was born.”

“Well,” he said, giving a short, dark laugh, “the hook part came later, but yes, my life as a pirate began that day.”

“I don’t understand, though,” she said, returning to the matter at hand. “How is it that honor was responsible for your brother’s death?”

Hook sighed impatiently. “Had he not blindly followed Arthur’s instructions, he would still be alive. And for all that you believe me dishonorable, had I followed orders upon my return, and brought that plant back to Camelot, you wouldn’t be standing here before me.” He swallowed hard. “That dreadful, incurable poison was meant to be used on the Misthaven royal family.”

It wasn’t terribly surprising information, given that there had been other attempted assassinations over the past several years. And more than that, it was irrelevant, a distraction. He was trying to sway her by making his argument personal to her, as though she had not been raised to set aside personal feelings for the greater good.

“There’s a difference,” she said, trying to keep her voice even, “between a subject’s responsibility to his king, and a king’s responsibility to his subjects. Your brother’s honor did not kill him; it was your king’s dishonor that did so. He had a responsibility to protect you, and he failed.”

“You don’t—”

But she refused to let him cut her off. “I am not like Arthur. I am not like him and will  _ never _ be like him. My people depend on me to protect them, to provide for them, to do right by them. I cannot do that if I flee the kingdom. I cannot do that if I’m executed. And I cannot do that if I’m … tainted.” She spat out the word.

His anger had faded; all that was left was a deep sadness. “Emma, please, don’t do this.”

She sighed. “It’s  _ Your Highness.”  _ Her exasperation caused the bed linens to flutter, and he either did not notice or was excellent at pretending not to.

“No. No, I’m not asking you as a princess. I’m asking  _ you. _ Emma. As though you had no kingdom to fret over.”

“I don’t have that luxury.”

“You do,” he insisted, reaching out and gripping one of her hands tightly in supplication. “You don’t need to … to  _ mutilate _ yourself for your people. However you feel about your magic, it’s a natural part of you. Please, Emma. If not for all this talk of kingdoms and subjects and responsibilities, would you do this? If you didn’t have to?”

It was a question she’d never considered, simply because it was all hypothetical. Would she be ridding herself of magic if there were no stigma, no death sentence? Would she embrace it? Simply learn to live with it? Or travel to Oz for the very same reason, to remove it?

But it  _ was _ all hypothetical. “If not for kingdoms and subjects and responsibilities,” she said bitterly, “except that I cannot make them vanish. I cannot even comprehend what choice I would make if I had one. Because I simply don’t.”

“Emma, please, let me—”

“Look,” she said, dropping his hand. “I’m sorry that you’ve been made a party to this, but this is not your decision. Whatever you think of my choice, it’s  _ mine _ to make. You’ve begged me to reconsider; I now beg you to give me my autonomy.”

He did not respond for several long moments, and she wondered what he might do. Lock her back in the brig and deliver her to her parents? Set her free on the shores of Oz to make her own way home? Or keep her prisoner here until her resolve wavered?

“I apologize in advance for what I’m about to do.”

The brig it was, she supposed.

Except that he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

Had she insisted that she had never held any interest in kissing him, or being kissed by him, anyone would have been able to rightfully call her a liar. After all, he was young and attractive, and she was only human. But in this moment, as they’d argued, as her fate had hung in the balance, the thought had never been further from her mind, leaving this kiss as unexpected as it could have possibly been.

But by the time she registered that he was kissing her, and her mind caught up enough that she might have been able to enjoy it, and perhaps even kiss back, something changed.

Something was wrong.

It was as though the energy had seeped out of her body. Her arms, which had involuntarily moved so that she could place her hands on his shoulders, felt leaden and began to slip to her sides. And her legs began to shake, suddenly unable to support her weight. Hook’s arms quickly wrapped around her, holding her up before she could lose her balance and slip to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered into her ear. “Emma, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She felt as limp as a rag doll. “What just happened?”

There was nothing she could do as he scooped her up in his arms. “That bloody witch cursed my lips to remove your magic,” he explained as he carried her to his bed.

His bed? Oh no, his bed, while she was too weak—

“I’ll have your supper brought on a tray,” he continued. “You can eat here; I don’t mind. Unless you think you can sit in a chair?”

She relaxed; he was simply being courteous. And could she sit in a chair to eat? Her attempt to sit up failed, answering her question. “Thank you, I think this should be fine.”

He nodded. “I’ll be back in a moment; just need to speak with Thomas.” And he departed swiftly to find the cabin boy, leaving her alone.

Had she really succeeded? There was nothing she could do except test her magic, even though it had been ages since she’d last tried to actively control it.

No lanterns would light or flicker out; no items would move across the table untouched; the door wouldn’t lock itself.

No magic.

She was free.

* * *

Though Emma knew she had made the right decision—the only decision, as she had reminded Hook two days ago—she had to admit that there were downsides to losing her magic.

The first and most obvious one was the fatigue she felt, as though she’d been drained of her strength. And she could not hide it from Hook; she tired easily and obviously, and her legs often trembled as she stood or walked.

That first evening, she’d eaten her supper on a tray while reclining in his bed, and afterwards, he’d carried her back to her own cabin to sleep. Though it had been early in the evening, she’d been so thoroughly tired that she hardly had any memory of leaving his cabin; it was a little embarrassing to think that she’d likely fallen asleep in his arms during the short walk.

The following day, the exhaustion had not been as pronounced, permitting her to sit at the table to dine, but she’d once again needed assistance when it came time to go above deck for some fresh air. Her face had burned with shame as Hook had brought her above, but the crew seemed to think nothing out of the ordinary was happening, and by the time she needed to be carried back down, the process felt much less noteworthy.

Today, she was even more improved, able to walk without much assistance, only needing Hook’s arm a few times as she’d moved about. However, all of the activity had required her to take a short nap in her cabin afterwards to regain what precious energy she could retain.

And so she felt confident that the fatigue would pass, if not by the time she returned to Misthaven, then soon after. And even if it persisted for a short while once she returned home, it would be easy to convince her parents that it was simply due to her strange, long journey.

But the sensation that refused to pass or improve was the emptiness inside of her.

She couldn’t seem to articulate it beyond that— _ emptiness _ —or how she could even feel aware of it. But she understood clearly: it was the space that her magic had occupied, and now there was nothing inside.

It was unsettling, unpleasant, and unnerving. And the last thing she wanted to do was admit it to Hook, and prompt a smug or snide  _ I told you so, _ or even the hint of one. If she were to confide in him that she no longer felt quite like herself, or entirely whole, she was sure that he might angrily turn the ship around and return to Oz to immediately confront Zelena. Or perhaps he would just blame her for being foolish, agreeing to a deal she hadn’t fully understood.

He would never understand that this was a small sacrifice; better to feel a little incomplete than to die for magic she didn’t want.

She had no desire to argue with him more, or defend her decision, especially since it had already been made. Instead, she was simply grateful that he was being so attentive and courteous, taking care of her and seeing to all of her needs.

It was … rather sweet, if she were being honest, just how solicitously he was behaving. But she kept reminding herself that he was clearly trying to assuage his guilt at his involuntary complicity in stripping her of her magic.

He had kissed her because the curse had demanded it, and he was taking care of her out of a sense of responsibility for her condition. It was the constant refrain in her mind any time she found herself dwelling on the situation.

And unfortunately, besides the loss of her magic, that was the other thing that occupied her thoughts without end:

That he had kissed her, that he was so gentle as he carried her around, that she caught him gazing at her with concern every time she found him looking her way.

And of course, she found him looking her way quite frequently, given how often  _ she _ was looking in  _ his _ direction.

 It was silly, as were most matters like it. One kiss, and she was suddenly curious about more; it was as though she were sixteen again, making eyes at a squire who’d held her hand a single time. These feelings were ones she recognized, daydreaming driven by a single moment, leading to over-analyzing every move the other party made.

Nothing could come of it, or at least that’s what she had to constantly tell herself. Hook was a mercenary; he could not be trusted and was not a suitable match by any stretch of the imagination. And she chided herself for reading so deeply into his treatment of her; it was likely born of his sense of responsibility for her, as opposed to genuine attraction or the beginnings of deeper emotions.

He would return her to her kingdom, and they would each go on with their lives, remembering, perhaps even with fondness, the time in which their paths intersected and intertwined.

There was no point in imagining what it would feel like to have him kiss her again, this time for less mystical purposes, or wondering what it would be like to kiss him back, or to have his lips travel to other places …

And there she was, at it again.

As little as she wanted to face her parents after such a long, unexplained, and fraught absence, she was eager to get to Misthaven so these feelings could dissipate, as they certainly would.

The nap she’d taken had been quite restorative; by the time Hook arrived to escort her to his cabin for supper, she was able to make the walk independently, without the aid of his arm. But of course, when he offered it to her, she took it nearly automatically, before cursing herself internally.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, love,” he said as he pulled her chair out for her.

“Thank you, I am,” she replied. “Better and better every day.”

“Good.” And for all she could tell, he did seem glad. Though he’d been right that the removal of her magic had carried a greater cost than she’d anticipated, he wasn’t aware of it, and she was surprised that he wasn’t more disappointed that he might have been wrong. Even so, she needed to stop reading so far into his gentlemanly behavior. It would only lead to more thoughts of a romance she knew she shouldn’t pursue, and that he was likely uninterested in anyway.

“Are you all right?” he asked, bringing her out of her thoughts. “You seem much more distracted than usual; is it just the fatigue?”

She cleared her throat. “Mostly.” Lying to him outright had always been a mistake; it was better to be as truthful as she could. But on this particular topic? No, she would tell him something else that had been on her mind. “I’m anxious about my return.”

He nodded. “How much of the truth do you intend to tell your parents?”

“Not much,” she admitted. “I still fear that this is an impermanent state, and that my magic might one day return, or simply manifest a second time. If I tell them the truth, and they harbor those same fears, I might find myself in the very situation I’d hoped to avoid.”

“So you’ll lie?”

She shrugged. “I might simply tell them that an anonymous source lured me out of the palace with the false promise of negotiations, which led to my kidnapping by Arthur.”

“Ah, a variation on the lie you told me when we first met.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” A breathless laugh escaped her, and for a moment, she was too lost in the memory to think over her words so carefully. “And to think, that day you threatened to strike me for lying to you, and now, you—”

She stopped herself, but her sentence, unfinished, almost hung visibly in front of her:  _ And now you treat me as though I were precious to you. _

“Now I what?” But his question wasn’t an innocent one from a dining companion who didn’t understand why the conversation had stopped. Instead, his voice was lower, his gaze more intense. He must know the direction she was heading in, if not due to her choice of words, then at least from the color in her cheeks. And in the moment, she was tempted to finish her train of thought, if only to see his reaction.

No, no, she was seeing things that were not there. The kiss had meant nothing, and his behavior now was not motivated by anything beyond a sense of guilt. So instead, she finished the thought lamely. “Now I don’t think you would.”

“I wouldn’t,” he agreed. “But I would hope that you would no longer lie to me, especially about as something as ordinary as what’s on your mind.”

She sighed. “It’s not that simple.” Must he really press her like this?

He set his fork down. “No, I suppose not. And that’s my fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“I kissed you,” he said, as though it were some shameful secret that she was unaware of. “I entirely understand that you would be uncomfortable around me, believing that I had done it as a romantic gesture.” He was blushing slightly, his cheeks and the tips of his ears slowly turning pink. “I want to assure you, it was not meant as an advance, and you needn’t fear that it might happen again.”

She wanted to reassure him, explain that the kiss hadn’t caused  _ that _ sort of problem, and that instead of dreading future advances, she was suddenly craving them. Or at the very least, she could brush aside his fears without letting on her own feelings. But there was something in his reaction, the near-stammer, the blush, that had her heart racing.

“So to be clear, you don’t wish to kiss me again,” she said.

“Absolutely not.” His voice was firm, but his blush had deepened.

She was a skilled diplomat, given that it was rather crucial given her role as a princess and future queen. She’d been trained extensively in dancing, etiquette, history, strategy, and, of course, the art of the negotiation. When someone was lying to her, she needed to be able to, at the very least, spot the lie, and it was even better if she could determine the motive behind it.

He’d always been able to tell when she was being untruthful, and she was somewhat delighted to discover that he was just as transparent to her. And her heart fluttered with excitement as she realized why.

What did it matter if these feelings were ephemeral, that he was not an eligible suitor, or that they would never see each other again? Each had been true of more than one of her previous lovers. While the circumstances of their meeting were quite unusual, they hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things.

What mattered was that she wanted to kiss him again, and he clearly felt the same way towards her. And given that they were both consenting adults, there was no reason no to give themselves what they both wanted.

All thoughts of tamping down her feelings vanished now that she understood her feelings weren’t unrequited. There was only one thing to do about it.

“Captain, I do believe this is the first time you’ve lied to me.”

He tried to mask his surprise quickly, but there was nothing he could do to hide how flustered he was. “Well, I—look, love, the last thing I want is for you to feel unsafe or uneasy around me, and I—”

Hook was still stammering, face flush with embarrassment, though she’d stopped listening. Instead, she rose from the table, strode over to him as confidently as she could, given her fatigue, and leaned in.

He tasted of the wine from his goblet. The flavor, combined with the knowledge that she was making a sexual advance towards a ruthless pirate captain, made the moment one of the most erotic of her life. And though he was nearly as passive in this kiss as she had been in their first, his surprise was delicious, giving the arousing kiss a note of sweetness she hadn’t expected.

And then it was over, and she was left standing above him, forehead pressed to his. “I think it’s safe to say that I feel neither unsafe nor uneasy around you, Captain.”

He took a deep breath. “Well, then. I suppose there’s only one course of action to take.”

“And what’s that?”

“It’ll involve supper getting cold.”

The best sort of escalation, as far as she was concerned. “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

She leaned in to speak directly into his ear. “I want to be able to cry out your name.”

Between fevered kisses and the rustle of clothing, he told her: “Killian.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains very brief, very mild references to sexual content.

Supper had indeed gotten cold, but Killian had briefly gotten dressed in order to bring the uneaten food back to the galley. He returned with a tray of fruit and cheese for them to eat in bed, before quickly stripping down in order to rejoin her.

“I owe you an apology,” he said between bites of apple.

Emma snorted. “And how’s that exactly?”

“I believe I might have made a comment to you about your status as a delicate flower in the bedroom.” She laughed. “I was clearly wrong.”

“I don’t suppose you should have expected differently,” she admitted. “Most of my suitors are quite surprised that I’m even interested in such dalliances. I’m not exactly a model princess.”

“You’re not?”

“Well, I happen to be lying naked in the bed of a pirate captain, after engaging in some incredibly lewd acts with him.”

He scoffed. “Must you call them lewd?”

“How else would I describe them?”

He set his apple down on the tray, which he’d left on the wooden shelf behind the head of the bed. “I can think of a few ways.” He ran his hand up and down her side slowly. “Sensual.” He leaned in and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck. “Passionate.” He slid his hand across her chest to cup one of her bare breasts. “Erotic.”

“One could argue that the last one is a synonym for lewd.” But of course, her voice had become breathy in response to his ministrations, which had not stopped. “Killian, please, I can hardly move as it is.”

His hand stilled. “Perhaps this was a bad idea.”

She frowned; she had not assumed that a night of passion together would mean anything more than it was, but it was still unpleasant to be told such a thing during the afterglow. “What do you mean?”

“You’re exhausted, darling; you have been since you lost your magic. I should have been more mindful of that, and instead, I’ve worn you out even more.”

“Oh.” Relief washed through her. “Oh, please, had I been too exhausted for this, I wouldn’t have initiated it.”

“Even so.” He shifted so that he could tuck her into his side comfortably. “I suppose tomorrow I’ll be toting you around again.”

He was likely right. “Is that a problem?”

He chuckled. “Of course not. Even less of one now that I know my feelings for you aren’t unreciprocated. I just wish you felt better.”

“As do I.”

“At least it will pass,” he said encouragingly. “To be honest, love, I feared that the curse would have more significant ramifications. I don’t mean to insinuate that you’re naive, but given your isolation from all things magical, you might not be aware of what much of magic entails.”

“All magic comes with a price,” she replied, recalling his words that day.

“Aye, that it does. And while I don’t know how I feel about the Wicked Witch of the West acquiring additional magic, I’m glad that the only effect of this curse on you is temporary. I expect it will be gone entirely by the time you see your parents again.” She felt him smile against her hair. “Unless, of course, tonight’s events repeat themselves. And I hope they do.”

Oh, but how wrong he was! And worst of all, her parents would know something was wrong once she returned. Her mother especially would notice, and continue to fret and worry over her for ages. Would her secret come out then?

“Darling?”

“Hm?”

“What has you so far away?”

Earlier in the day, she’d repeatedly told herself that nothing could come of her budding feelings for this man, but when the opportunity arose to act on those feelings, she’d taken it with no regrets. It had felt right in the moment, and right afterwards as well.

She had also spent a great deal of emotional energy telling herself that he could never know the true cost of expelling her magic. But now, even though she was still aware of the ramifications, she experienced something new and unexpected: her own need for understanding and comfort. Holding this secret in her heart for only a few days left her lost and lonely; sharing it with someone might alleviate her burden, if only slightly.

“Emma?” His hand came up to her face to wipe away a tear she hadn’t realized she’d shed. “Bloody hell, love, is it something I said?”

“No, no.” She scrubbed at her face. “Though I fear what you  _ will _ say.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I … There was indeed a price, a different one.”

He pulled away almost jerkily. “What do you mean?” His voice was low, with an edge of anger.

“Please calm down.”

“I’m quite calm.”

“No, you’re not,” she said, unable to hide her irritation. Here she was, trying to share her vulnerability with him, and he was already reacting badly.

“Well, perhaps this is as calm as I can be until I know what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s  _ wrong, _ exactly, I just …” She sighed with exasperation. “I’m not myself.”

“You’ve just been tired.”

“No—I mean yes, but not that. Stop interrupting.”

“Sorry, love.”

“There’s something missing. Inside of me. I can feel it.”

His pause was difficult to wait through; she had to prevent herself from filling the silence. Would his next words be ones of rage? Disbelief? Would he tell her that she’d brought this on herself, or call her a naive child?

“Because your magic is missing,” he said, his tone inscrutable. “You can feel the space it once occupied.”

“Yes.”

“That bloody witch. That—she has to be able to undo this. I’ll—”

“You’ll do nothing.” At least this was a reaction she’d prepared herself for. “Killian, I know I made a sacrifice—that’s why it’s a  _ sacrifice. _ Just because I’d hoped the price would be monetary doesn’t mean I didn’t expect to pay at all.”

“But you—”

“But I did not have a choice,” she reminded him. “If I want to return to my kingdom and lead my people, then I must do so as I am now. As unpleasant as the feeling is, I can grow accustomed to it. And I will, I’m sure of it.”

“Emma—”

“Stop it,” she said firmly. “I did not tell you this to have you … I don’t know, scold me for perceived naivety. We all make sacrifices, and when it’s the right thing to do, it makes it worth it.”

“I make no sacrifices,” he insisted. “It’s why I’m who I am today.”

“There have been no consequences to abandoning your post and becoming a pirate?” she asked skeptically.

“I could have just as easily lost my hand in the navy.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about that,” she admitted. “But please, you ask for my honesty; do I not deserve yours as well?”

“I quite enjoy being a free man, love.”

“Fine, then,” she said angrily. “Delude yourself all you want. But do not lecture me, or treat me as a child who’s been taken advantage of.”

“You’re the one who told me you’re unhappy with the outcome.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You said you feel—”

“I cannot keep repeating myself! What is so difficult to understand?” She flipped over, squirming out of his arms, and glared across the cabin at nothing. “Next time I need comfort, perhaps I’ll speak to Smee instead. I’m sure he’d be able to satisfy me in the ways you’ve failed to.”

He remained behind her, incredibly still, and she wondered what she should do now. Could she sleep beside him while she was so angry? Was it worth getting half-dressed and storming out, back to her own cabin?

“Emma, I—” He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, darling. I am.”

“For what?” she challenged, unwilling to accept a blanket apology.

“For …” He paused, and she felt him press his face into her neck. “I feel so helpless.”

_ He _ did? “Why?” What could possibly leave him feeling helpless?

“I can’t—” He let out a long breath into her hair. “I can’t do anything to help you. I  _ couldn’t _ do anything to help you.”

“What are you talking about?” She turned over to look at him. “You saved me from Arthur, you brought me to Oz, you’re—”

“When I’m faced with injustice, I fight it,” he continued, ignoring her interruption. “I don’t accept it; it’s simply not who I am. And so to watch you … to watch you accept it …” He trailed off there, staring at her with a pained expression.

“I don’t have a choice,” she reminded him quietly.

“I know.” She raised an eyebrow at the admission and he rolled his eyes. “I  _ do _ know, though I’ve argued with you. You had a way to return to your kingdom safely, and it was not my place to tell you not to.”

“Thank you.” How much things had changed, that his understanding meant so much to her.

He dropped his forehead to hers. “I just wish that I could do more—do anything, rather. And if this is how helpless I feel, then I cannot even begin to imagine how much more helpless you must feel. It’s unbearable.”

“I’ve learned to bear quite a bit.” She’d meant to inject some levity into the conversation, but her words came out sad and resigned instead.

“You are undeserving of such a burden, darling.”

“There are many burdens I must bear in exchange for the power my people entrust me with.”

“I know. But surely there must be one I can help you carry.”

“Kiss me,” she said, and he did so, deeply and without hesitation. And again and again until she found just enough strength to engage in one more sensual, passionate, erotic act.

* * *

Never before had Emma felt this way as the scenery turned familiar, and the beautiful coast of Misthaven peered over the horizon.

With Camelot constantly threatening war, her journeys by sea had been few and far between recently, but back when relations had been more peaceful, she’d enjoyed many excursions, both for business and pleasure. And no matter how wonderful those trips had been, no matter the length, there had always been a soothing feeling of relief as her homeland came into view.

That sense of calm was missing today. If she had been unfortunate enough to still have her magic, her hair would likely be on end from dread.

Why dread? Why all this apprehension? Her journey was at an end, her mission a success. More than a success, when she thought of it, given how she’d inadvertently stymied Arthur in the process. So why should she feel this way about coming home?

“All right, love?”

Killian’s voice preceded his presence only briefly, and soon he was nearly pressed against her. Days earlier, she might have wondered if he was simply protecting her from the wind, but such pretense was no longer necessary between them, even in front of the crew. No, he was not simply being an attentive host; such physical contact was purely for the sake of it, both for him and for her.

Her throat tightened; the Jolly Roger was swift, magically so, if Killian were to be believed. Port was fast approaching, which meant that this moment, one she might happily live in forever, would soon be ending.

Of course it had to end. That had been the plan all along, to come home.

“We should turn around,” she said.

His chuckle was halfway between amused and melancholy. “And why is that?”

“You’re wanted for piracy in just about every kingdom, my own included, and yet you’re  heading straight into port. Surely, there’s a more covert route you could take?”

“I suppose we could try the south side,” he mused. “It’s another day or two by sea, but then nearly a week by land to return you to the palace.”

Another week, as opposed to another hour. “It would be safer that way, I think.”

“For me, perhaps, but not you.”

She scoffed. “As though harm would come to me in my own kingdom.”

“As though any would come to me either. Like any half-decent pirate, I know how to make port where I’m a wanted man. I’ve been to Misthaven plenty of times, as recently as last month, and faced no issues whatsoever.”

“Last month, the princess wasn’t missing, presumed—”

“Emma, my darling, stop.” He sighed into the crook of her neck. “I don’t wish to part either. But it must come sometime.”

“This wasn’t …” Her words were failing her in the moment, turning sour in her mouth. “This wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“More than a dalliance, you mean.”

“Well, when you say it like  _ that … _ ”

“I’m not offended.” His arms, which had been only loosely around her, began to tighten, and she leaned back into him. “I did not expect this either. Serves us right for trying to have a little fun on the way home, aye?”

“We shouldn’t have done it.” Her words lacked conviction. “It was … not every curiosity must be sated.”

“Do you really feel that way?”

It should have taken time for her to answer, to think over the question. Because it should have been just a dalliance, as he’d called it, just some enjoyment between the sheets with a man who knew exactly what he was doing. It should have involved shared pleasure, sweaty bed linens, and satisfaction, but nothing more.

It should not have involved discussions that continued late into the night, where he shared his story of maternal death and paternal abandonment, or where she confided in him her doubts and fears regarding her future as queen. It should not have involved her meager belongings, what little she’d cobbled together during her time on the ship, moving into his cabin while her borrowed room remained vacant. It should not have involved seeking each other out at all times, as though drawn together by something inexplicably mystical.

It should not have become something that she could not leave behind.

“No,” she finally admitted. She felt him relax temporarily before tensing again, his relief at her answer fleeting in the face of their imminent separation. And it was quite imminent; the shore grew closer every moment, and she knew it would only be a matter of hours at most before she was back in her bedchambers in the palace.

“I can’t do this.”

It was a whisper under her breath, a thought that she hadn’t meant to verbalize. “Then don’t,” he replied gently.

“I have to.”

“I know.”

Their story was ending, and there was nothing to be done about it except turn and kiss him. Kiss him and try to forget what she was feeling. Kiss him and pretend that they could be together, that there was a future together. Kiss him and be Emma,  _ just _ Emma, no kingdom, no subjects, no responsibilities. Just Emma, a woman who loved a man.

They had kissed in front of the crew on occasion as their affair had escalated into more, and so she was surprised when the display of affection elicited gasps and shouts. But then she felt the wind pick up suddenly and unexpectedly, tugging her hair from her loose braid, and lightness and warmth emanated from where their lips met.

But none of that was how she knew this was no ordinary kiss. Not even an ordinary passionate, desperate goodbye kiss.

It was the sudden sensation in her body, one she had never known existed until it had vanished several days ago, after a much more innocent kiss than this one. It was a strength, a power, a sense of self, rushing through her, lifting her up, making her whole once again.

They broke apart, and she imagined that she had the same sort of dazed expression on her face as he did. “Emma, that was—”

She knew. She knew what  _ that _ was. There had likely been a wash of rainbow light which was now rushing through her kingdom and across oceans, announcing to the world what had happened.

But what had happened was not a single thing, but two together, and while she was sure Killian would be more interested in focusing on one, the other one was by far more pressing.

“My magic.” She couldn’t catch her breath; the wind continued to swirl around her, and it wasn’t a residual breeze from the kiss, or a natural one from the sea. It was her magic, announcing its presence, and once again mocking her for lacking any control over it.

“But she removed it. She said it would remove it.”

“It  _ did.  _ I don’t—I don’t understand.” How could it be back? Why would this bring it back?

“Bloody—a curse. Emma, it was a curse.”

A curse—she had forgotten. It hadn’t seemed important at the time, when he’d kissed away her magic. Who cared what sort of spell it was when all that mattered was that it had worked? But of course, if it had been a curse, then it could easily be broken by the most powerful magic of all.

“Bloody hell,” he swore. “We’re nearly to port.”

Nearly home and she still had magic. Her entire voyage had been in vain, now that she was returning with the same burden that she had meant to rid herself of. And it wasn’t as though she had better control over her magic now; judging by the change in the weather and Killian’s concerned expression, it was clear that, if anything, she was even less able to contain it than she’d been before.

“I don’t know what to do.”

She couldn’t go home like this. Her life would be forfeit, especially now when it would be obvious that she had magic. Perhaps if they went around the long way, as she’d suggested before, that would give her time to adjust, to breathe, to force it to behave.

But then what would happen when she walked through the palace gates? As soon as it was time to face her parents, her fear would take hold, and it would be a miracle if she could avoid lighting something on fire.

“If I can’t control it—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, and she didn’t need to. Killian knew: if she couldn’t control it, her life was forfeit.

“Stay with me,” he said.

“But—”

“Emma,  _ please.” _ He gripped her hand tightly and brought it to his chest. “Please,  _ please _ let me save you.”

It would be the easier choice. Stay here on the ship, stay here with the man she knew she loved, who loved her back, stay safe and not risk execution. It should have been the only choice.

But her parents and her people … what of them? She could always send her parents a letter to explain, and perhaps she could see them again if they met somewhere neutral. But her life as a princess would certainly be over, and Misthaven would be more vulnerable than ever.

Could she live with that? Or were her only options to learn to live with it, or to cease living at all?

This couldn’t be it; these couldn’t be the only paths for her. She simply would not  _ let _ this be it.

She was Crown Princess Emma of Misthaven, who had managed to escape one kidnapper and earn the love of another. She had done the impossible and found a way to remove her own magic; perhaps she could do it again if she needed to.

No, not perhaps. She  _ would _ do it again if she needed to.

“You’re going to go,” Killian said despondently.

His voice brought her out of her thoughts. “What?”

“The look on your face.” He shook his head. “Darling, don’t sign your own death warrant.”

“They might listen.”

“You haven’t thought so before.”

“I’m not the person I was before.” Because now she knew how to be Emma, just Emma.

“What if I refuse?”

“You’ll hold me prisoner here?”

“I—” He ran his hand through his hair almost angrily. “Aye, I will. I’ll even toss you back in the brig.”

He was serious, she was sure, but she couldn’t help but laugh, even as the blush rose in his cheeks and his eyes turned glassy. She calmed herself and took his hand again, now holding it to her heart. “I need to do this, Killian.”

“Why?” His voice was thin and small. But then his face grew stony. “Honor, I take it.” She had no reply. But when she moved to drop his hand, he held on, pulling her to him. “I will wait here for you.”

“What?”

“We’ll remain in port until I know you’re safe. If anything goes wrong, send for me, and I’ll come for you.”

“But it’s not safe for you here.”

“I don’t bloody care. You’re risking your life today, and so will I.”

His tone brooked no argument, and she was too overwhelmed with her feelings for him to offer one. “Thank you.”

There was too much else to say, and yet nothing more. And so they stood at the ship’s railing, holding each other tightly, as they slowly pulled into port.

And when they did, she had to let go. Let go of his hand, of their story, of the certainty of a life together.

Yes, it was likely that she would see him again, and soon. After all, she was about to tell her parents that her very existence was in violation of the law. Chances were quite high that she would be sending him some sort of message, and that he would stage a rescue; as much as she feared for his safety, she knew that he would succeed.

But she was doing this with hope, hope that she would be wrong, and that her parents would accept her. And if that was what she hoped, then it would mean also hoping that this was the end for her and Killian.

It meant she was hoping to step off the ship, walk away, and never see him again. It meant she was hoping to move on, to forget, to find someone else to share her life and her bed.

How could she? How could she ever?

She was about to find out. She squeezed his hand one last time, swallowed her tears, and stepped purposefully down the gangplank onto home soil.

She did not look back. She knew that if she did, she would never make it home.

* * *

The past three months had been the longest of Killian Jones’ life.

He had tried to distract himself, and he was touched to find that his crew tried their best to assist. They raided and looted as they’d never raided or looted before; they visited all manner of pirate cities, filled with vice and entertainment; and they had sailed as far away from Misthaven as they could at all times.

But oh, his heart would not settle. How could it? How could he find any manner of peace when the woman he loved—yes,  _ loved, _ for he knew what had transpired between them in that moment—had stepped out of his life so permanently?

He had waited for her, longer than necessary or prudent, after she’d stepped off his ship and onto dry land. He’d selfishly hoped that she might at least turn around one last time, or even run back to him, but she’d continued on, vanishing into the crowds. And then he’d waited for news of her fate.

It should have been a relief to hear that Misthaven had overturned its laws against magic, but instead, he was filled with angry self-loathing. Only the worst of all people would wish that loving parents would try to execute or exile their own daughter, just to give him a reason to sweep in and rescue her.

And so a week later, he finally gave up, and the Jolly Roger sailed away. Alone, without his love.

But the kiss they’d shared—how could it have broken the curse on her, and yet not lead her back to him? It was yet another injustice in his life, and another one that he could do nothing to correct.

He would have to forget her, as though that were possible. But he could at least behave as though it were, which meant returning to his life’s work: destroying Arthur. In the months since Emma had disappeared from his life, he’d made some decent progress, and while it was no consolation for his broken heart, it was at the very least _ something. _

And so he was in his cabin, meticulously plotting his next maneuver against Camelot, when there was a hesitant knock on his door. “Come in.”

It was Smee, wringing his hat in his hands. “We’re being pursued, Captain.”

“Do we know by whom?” The Jolly Roger was the fastest ship in all the realms, so it would hardly be an effort to escape. In fact, most kingdoms had learned by now that there was never any point in pursuit. If Arthur were the one foolish enough to be sending a ship after him, though, he would gladly turn around and start a proper fight.

“Looks to be Misthaven.”

Now  _ that _ was odd. It was no secret that Misthaven’s fleet was the least competent navy in the realms. He’d begun to leave them alone even before Emma had stormed into his life, out of a sense of pity for them. That they would be intentionally pursuing him was so out of the ordinary that he briefly wondered if—

No, no,  _ no _ foolishness. It was bad enough that he would dream she was still with him; he would not succumb to false hope in the waking world, too.

“Leave them be,” he directed. “Continue onward.”

“They’ve raised the white flag, Captain.”

Pursuing him and then raising the white flag? It was a clear sign that someone wanted to speak with him—

But no,  _ no, _ he could not bear it if he were wrong. Watching her walk away had torn his heart asunder, and he could not withstand such pain again. If she were not aboard—or worse, if she only meant their reunion to be temporary—then what would he do with himself?

He had a choice to make: permit the other ship to approach and establish contact, or leave them behind and never have to find out.

No, there was no choice. How was there a choice? How could he sail away and never know? “Then let’s see what they want.”

He remained in his cabin for as long as he could, unwilling to spend any more time than necessary scanning the deck of the other ship. But it took little time for the Jolly Roger to move about and close in, and for the gangplank to be put into place. All too soon, it was time to rise and see what Misthaven wanted.

To see what  _ she _ wanted.

For as soon as he emerged on deck and looked towards the other ship, he saw her, hair whipping around in the wind like spun gold.

He was frozen in place as she began to walk across the gangplank, stopping short at the very end. “Permission to come aboard?”

Up close, she was more beautiful than his memory could have ever comprehended, and he had to remember how to breathe. He had met her when she had been a prisoner, bedraggled and dirty; though she had changed and bathed aboard his ship, the clothes he had provided her with had not been tailored to fit her gorgeous body, and a tub of water and bar of mild soap could not compare to the baths she could take at home in the palace.

“Aye.” His voice cracked.

As he escorted her to his cabin, he finally noticed just how tense she was. Her eyes were a little too bright, her smile a little too firm. What could have her so on edge?

A mistake. It was a mistake to have done this, to have let her back into his life, onto his ship, into his heart.

As though she’d ever left his heart in the first place.

She took her seat—it was still her seat, even if it had been vacant for weeks—without waiting for him to pull it out for her. It was a habit she’d fallen into after they’d consummated their relationship, as though she considered them past such formalities. He tried to calm his racing heart, lest he read too much into the inconsequential action. Instead of commenting on it, he stepped around and took his own seat.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Your Highness?” he asked, lips and throat dry as sand.

“Oh, Killian.” She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “It’s  _ me.” _

“Aye, I—” The entire time he’d known her, she’d done nothing but throw him off guard; nothing had changed. “I didn’t expect to see you again,” he admitted.

He expected her to shrug it off or have a ready reply, but instead, she blushed and looked down at the table. “I … to be honest, I thought I would be sending for you immediately after we parted.”

“Judging from the news from your kingdom, your parents reacted differently than you’d expected.”

She snorted, a sound he’d missed very much. “You and the public don’t know the half of it.”

“Oh?”

She fished around her neckline and pulled out a familiar pendant; he recognized it as the one she’d worn throughout her time on his ship. She never took it off, something he’d learned when they made love, and he’d grown accustomed to the feel of it against his skin whenever she’d pressed her naked chest against his.

But this was not the time to think about that.

“My mother gave this to me on my sixteenth birthday,” she explained. “It was on the same birthday that she spoke to me about the importance of sexual compatibility with potential suitors. Beautiful necklace, don’t you agree?”

“I do.” And yet not half as beautiful as the person wearing it.

“It’s a contraceptive charm.”

It took a moment for the deeper meaning of the statement to register. Of course it would be prudent for the crown princess to wear a contraceptive charm if she were engaging in sexual acts outside of marriage. It was a wise choice for the queen to give one to her, although odd that its purpose went unstated—

“Bloody hell, are you serious?”

“I am. And that’s not even all of it. It turns out that my godmother is a werewolf.”

“How is that possible?” Under Misthaven’s anti-magic law, being a magical creature was considered the same as using magic. And it wasn’t as though a werewolf would go unnoticed, especially for such a long time, not when the moon was full.

“Magical cloak. I always wondered why she only wore it a few times a month; it never occurred to me that the timing of it was so oddly specific.”

“So you were never in any danger of execution?” Her entire journey, had it been entirely pointless?

“Not ever.” Apparently so. “They’ve been ignoring violations of the law for years in exchange for secrecy, to maintain the appearance of enforcement. And in fairness to them, it wasn’t entirely hypocrisy; they are truly wary of magic and uncomfortable with it, but not enough to ignore its usefulness, or to execute their own people for such minor offenses.”

“But they still changed the law.”

She nodded. “As I said, the only way the law could be maintained was if magic remained secret. And as you well know, that could never have been the case with my magic. I needed someone to teach me to control it, or it would have made itself apparent before long. Even my parents had been suspicious when I accidentally lit that table full of charts on fire.”

He chuckled, remembering the story that she’d regaled him with late one night. “Well, I’m glad they saw reason. From what I’ve heard during my travels, the law’s repeal has been well-received, and public opinion of you hasn’t changed.”

“It’s been a relief,” she agreed. “And not just the public opinion. You once asked me if I would rid myself of my magic if my life weren’t at stake.”

“You wouldn’t answer,” he remembered.

“I really couldn’t at the time. I had only ever feared my magic my whole life; there was nothing redeeming about it that would have made me want to keep it. But so much has changed. After how … how empty I felt, when it was gone, I was actually happy to have it back.” She smiled at him, and he mirrored her expression automatically. “Can you imagine that? I returned to the palace that day, terrified for my life, and yet still happy to feel like myself again.”

“So you wouldn’t get rid of it now?”

“No,” she said firmly. “And now that the law is gone, the fairies have returned. They’ve been teaching me, not just how to use it, but to control it. No more silverware rattling on the table when I get angry.”

“You know I never noticed.”

“I’ve no idea how you didn’t.”

“Emma, I’m—” He took a deep breath. “I cannot begin to tell you how glad I am to hear that your tale has a happy ending, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t missed you. But why are you here?” For he could no longer bear to sit here, across from here, without knowing just how heartbroken he would be by the end of this conversation.

He half-expected a protestation, or even a defensive retort. But instead, she straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin up, and looked him straight in the eye. “I’ve come to you with an offer from my parents.”

Memories of their earliest encounter rose up in his mind, when he’d first experienced the full force of her royal demeanor. It had infuriated him at the time, as much as it had fascinated him, that instead of the delicate, fearful, helpless young girl he’d expected, she had been fierce, unyielding, and entirely unfazed by her situation.

Now that he knew her, that he’d fallen for her, her demeanor made him want to drop to his knees before her, either as a subject or a lover—or both.

“And what is this offer?”

She studied him carefully, as though she could determine his acceptance or rejection before she’d even voiced it. But then she spoke in the commanding voice of a princess, and he was helpless to do anything but listen.

“It’s no secret that Arthur’s navy is the strongest in the realms, and that ours is the weakest. That has been true for years, and for years, we’ve brushed it aside as a minor issue, assuming that Arthur would resort to other tactics rather than naval conflict. But it seems likely, based on our spies’ reports, that he’s planning to strike by sea, and very soon. And if that’s the case, then no amount of magic is going to help us.”

She paused, and he wondered if she expected him to speak. But what was there to say? That yes, Arthur’s fleet was indeed that deadly? Or that yes, it was true, that Misthaven’s stood no chance? Fortunately, no response was necessary.

“You were once one of Arthur’s top naval officers,” she continued. “And based on your activities since you deserted, you are clearly an incredibly talented strategist. You’ve done an extraordinary amount of damage to Arthur’s naval forces as a pirate with a single ship. Imagine what you could do with an entire fleet at your disposal.”

An entire fleet? He would have Arthur groveling on the deck before him in no time at all, begging for his life. “And your parents would offer me that?”

“Yes. They believe, as do I, that with you in command, our navy would no longer be the laughing stock of the realms, but an effective and powerful military force.”

“Well, clearly, but how would they feel about a pirate leading them?”

Her mask faltered a little. “You—you wouldn’t be a pirate anymore. You and your entire crew would be pardoned. They would all be granted the opportunity to join our navy and continue to serve under you, or to make their way as free men to do whatever they wish.”

“And would  _ I _ be free?”

Her royal demeanor continued to waver. “I suppose your pardon is contingent on agreeing to the offer,” she admitted.

“So I would not be a free man.”

“Killian—”

“It’s been years since I sailed under a crown,” he reminded her. “I don’t have much interest in doing so again.”

“I know, but this would be your way of helping  _ defeat _ that crown.”

“Let’s say that I help, and we defeat Arthur. What happens to him?”

“We’ll likely imprison him and help install a new ruler. In fact, there’s a knight in his court—”

“But not execute him.”

“Well, no, that’s simply not done.”

“Which means that I will never achieve my goal of eviscerating him with my hook,” he pointed out. “Emma, he killed my brother. He would kill  _ you. _ I cannot simply forget all of that.”

“I … I understand,” she said, though she didn’t sound as defeated as he would have thought. “I told my parents you were unlikely to accept. I’d hoped otherwise.”

So this was the purpose of her visit—to offer him a life trapped in the palace. He wished to go back in time an hour, and ignore her ship’s request for parley. It would be easier to wonder what would have been than to feel what he was feeling now.

But she interrupted his thoughts. “And so I’ve come with a second offer.”

“I can hardly imagine that your parents would have anything else to offer me,” he pointed out.

“They don’t,” she said. “I do.”

He wasn’t sure what to say in response; it seemed best for her to speak first, to put the offer on the table. And so he watched as her expression softened; she was still the Princess of Misthaven, but also just Emma, his Emma, and her eyes were beginning to shine with unshed tears. She spoke before he could reach out to comfort her.

“Twice, you told me I could stay here on this ship,” she began. “First, when we were arguing over my magic and whether or not you would take it from me, and again when my magic returned unexpectedly. Do you remember?”

Did he remember? Did he remember begging her to let him save her? The question was ridiculous, and he did his best to avoid any semblance of scoffing as he replies, “Of course.”

“In my cabin on my ship, I have a few bags packed with clothing, necessities, and my most prized possessions. One command from me, and my crew will bring it all on board the Jolly Roger.”

He blinked. Was she suggesting what he thought she was? But false hope—but  _ was  _ this false hope? “What are you saying?”

“I love you, Killian.” And now her tears were no longer unshed. “I thought that losing you was just another sacrifice I had to make. And I don’t know.” She wiped at her face. “Maybe it’s one I’m  _ supposed _ to make. But these past few months have been unbearable. I—I think about you constantly, I can hardly concentrate on my magical studies or any of my responsibilities. When my mother suggested some potential suitors—ones who wouldn’t mind the rumors surrounding our relationship—I actually vomited once I was in private. Even the  _ thought  _ of—”

He could not remain silently seated anymore, not once her initial declaration had fully registered. He knocked over his chair in his hurry to reach her, and once he was by her side, there were a few awkward moments as he tried to kneel and she tried to stand.

But finally, she was in his arms and his lips were on hers, and it was as though the past three months of torment were erased, a forgotten, faded scar that hardly warranted a single thought. Because she’d come back to him, because she did love him, because she was here and they were together.

They could sail off together, a pirate king and queen, adventuring in any kingdom or realm they wished. Bloody hell, with her help—her magic—they could even take on Arthur together; the tyrant would never stand a chance once she was no longer bound by the constraints of royalty.

It was everything he could want and more than he ever thought he would have.

His brave, fierce, beautiful Emma by his side.

And yet.

He pulled away, only far enough to speak. “What about your parents? Your people?”

“Not the most romantic conversation.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “My parents aren’t aware of this, as far as I know. Though I suppose they might figure it out soon.”

“No, I meant your obligations to them. As the sole heir.”

She sighed and pressed her face into his chest. “Please don’t make me second guess this decision. It was already difficult for me to justify it, and I feel selfish enough as it is.”

His brave, fierce, beautiful,  _ honorable _ Emma. She was finally making a selfish choice, love over duty, finally unwilling to sacrifice the first for the second.

He hadn’t been jesting those months ago, when she’d accused him of lying; making sacrifices was simply not something he did. He was a bloody pirate captain, after all; compromise wasn’t in his vocabulary. It wasn’t until he had to watch her leave that piracy finally  _ did _ involve sacrifice. It was piracy or princess, not both; he could not follow her, outlaw that he was.

But now she was here, and she was offering herself to him; he could finally have what he wanted, a chance to complete his revenge, with his true love by his side.

But just as with magic, there would be a price.

Could she ever be happy this way? Would they sail across the realms under a shroud of her guilt? And could he ever feel truly happy himself if his beloved’s heart were so torn?

She would have to give up everything to be with him—it was yet another sacrifice she would have to make.

Was he willing to do the same for her?

Could he give up his freedom, serve under her parents’ crown, lose his opportunity to execute Arthur?

Or was it preferable to spend the rest of his days sailing the seas with a beloved whose heart always carried shame and sadness over the responsibilities she’d abdicated?

He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time; he finally understood now, why she’d made the decisions she’d made. Sometimes a choice wasn’t a choice at all.

“I accept your parents’ offer, on one condition.”

He expected joy at his words, or even curiosity regarding the condition, but as usual, as had been the case when he’d first met her and she’d destroyed all of his preconceived notions, she surprised him. “You—what? But why?”

“Are you seriously suggesting you’d prefer that I reject it?”

“No, I—I didn’t—” It was beautiful to see her so flustered, when she’d done nothing but fluster him throughout their acquaintance. “But you don’t  _ want _ it,” she finally settled on.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

She rolled her eyes. “For the reasons you stated only minutes ago! You wouldn’t be free to sail wherever you wished, you would have to abide by Arthur’s imposed sentence, you—”

“I don’t care.”

And he truly didn’t. It was the most freeing sensation he’d experienced.

Of course, she threw him a comically incredulous expression, which meant she required clarification. “I’m sure I’ll chafe at the many restrictions placed on me, and I won’t pretend that I don’t still wish to personally disembowel Arthur—do you think your parents would budge on that?”

“I highly doubt it.” But a smile was beginning to tug at the corners of her mouth.

“It was worth asking. But as I was saying, obviously I would miss a great deal of the perks of piracy, but that doesn’t mean I don’t  _ want _ this.”

He tightened his arms around her. “And  _ that’s _ the only condition that matters to me. I’ll gladly return to my life as Lieutenant Jones, sailing under the crown of Misthaven, but only if it means that I can do so by your side. For these past months have been equally unbearable for me, my love. I do not wish to ever be separated, whether by oceans or by duty.”

Her fingers tightened, crumpling the linen of his shirt. “Of course, of course!”

“I do not want to have to convince your parents—”

“Oh, please,” she laughed, and it was a beautiful sound. “That’s the point of their offer—you do understand, don’t you? They’re making it for  _ me, _ for  _ us.” _

He laughed back. “Aye, and I suppose my skills in naval strategy never came up in conversation?” She blushed and stared defiantly at his chest. “Oh, my love, I don’t mind. I just wanted to be sure I wouldn’t be strung up from the rafters as soon as your parents saw us together.”

“Well, you will be expected to maintain proper courtship etiquette.”

“Such as?”

“We’d need a chaperone, of course, if we wanted to spend time alone. And I don’t think my parents would be pleased if they saw us behave improperly together.”

He pulled back in surprise to find her expression serious. “Really?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “It will be no secret that you would be a former pirate,” she explained. “And worse, the pirate who kidnapped me; the entire kingdom already whispers about how we might have spent our time together. But don’t worry; I’m old enough that the kingdom would like to see me wed sooner rather than later, so we won’t have to wait too long before we can consummate our relationship.”

“But we’ve already consummated—are you serious?” Wasn’t this the woman who’d made him pay dearly for calling her a delicate flower?

The facade broke, and she burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but it was worth it for the look on your face!”

“You _ infuriating _ woman.”

“If you think for one moment that I care about decorum, then you are quite the fool,” she said as she caught her breath. “I have every intention of keeping you locked away in my chambers whenever we’re not needed for official business.”

“You’ll have no arguments from me.”

“Are you sure about this?” The mirth on her face shifted to insecurity. “And I mean  _ really _ sure? For I don’t believe my love for you will fade, and if you were to grow disillusioned—”

“More sure now than I was even a moment ago. You have my fealty and my love, Emma. And while you wouldn’t be the woman I love if you weren’t so concerned for my wellbeing, I can guarantee you that there’s no need to worry about me at all.”

Her smile came back, and the room became brighter. It wasn’t simply his own elation at seeing hers; it was her magic, responding to her emotions, and leaking out from her control.

He would tell her later, though. For now, he wanted to bask in the moment, where there was nothing and no one else that mattered. No kingdoms or crews, no responsibilities or concerns.

Just him, just her, just them together.

The rest could be dealt with in a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all she wrote! I had a lot of fun writing this story, especially these versions of Emma and Killian.
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed this story, and I would love to know what you think in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy the story, drop a comment and let me know what you think!


End file.
